Chambers of the Sea
by emrie
Summary: Why is Summer Roberts the way she is? Take a look at the darker side of Newport through the eyes of a lonely princess. The memorable days of her life reveal the complexities of social interaction for a young girl. SS.
1. Default Chapter

**Summary**: Glimpses into the important moments of Summer Robert's life, the moments that have shaped who she is. Little peeks at Seth as well. S/S.  
**Rating**: heavy PG-13 for language and sexual innuendo.  
**Feedback**: _Greatly appreciated._ I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything. I reread and treasure everything people say to me.  
**Author's Notes**: The title and poetry are from the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot. Summer would have been born in August 1987.**  
Disclaimer**: I do not own any original characters or original plots. They belong to the creators of the OC universe. My other plots and prose and unique characters are all mine, copywrited December of 2003, and not for use without my permission.  


  
*  
**  
Chapter 1: Submerged**  
  
_I should have been a pair of ragged claws  
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas._  
  
*  


  


Friday, June 9, 1990:  
  
You said we could go to the beach! Summer slid down against the wall opposite the bathroom door, swiping angrily at the tears rolling down her cheeks. You said! You promised!  
  
I know I did, sweetheart, but sometimes things don't always work the way we've planned. Mommy's voice, strained and sad, drifted through the door. Please come out and let me hug you before I go.  
  
Summer drew out the word, drumming her heels against the door. No! You promised! You promised! She hiccuped, drawing in a breath through the tears. You _promised_! There was silence from the other side of the door, then she heard Mommy walking away, heels clicking on the hardwood floor.   
  
Usually Summer loved it when she could hear Mommy walking down the hallway. When she could, it meant that Mommy was dressed up, wearing fancy high heels. And when Mommy dressed up, Summer usually got to dress up too. She liked dressing up, because it meant Mommy would spend time helping her get ready, and then they would go to a party together.   
  
That very morning Mommy had taken her to a garden party at the country club, and Summer had worn her new sun dress. Her grandmother had sent it to her from New York; it was starched and pink with white pinstripes. She also had matching white sandals. Mommy had held her hand and all the other women at the party had admired her dress and told her how much she looked like Mommy. Summer had clung shyly to Mommy as she talked to her friends. All the grown-ups had sparkling liquid in jewel-toned glasses, and someone had given Summer a glass of her own, filled with pink juice. To match her pretty dress, she was told.  
  
But the day had been warm and the glass had been slippery with beaded water and she had dropped it, spilling juice down the front of her dress. The liquid had seeped into the fabric, spreading like a bloodstain across the front of her skirt.  
  
Summer studied the stain now, running her fingers over the ruined cotton as she listened to the muffled rise and fall of voices down the hall. Mommy's: high pitched, desperate, furious. Daddy answering in short, clipped sentences, flat-voiced. She was only three, but Summer was used to these sounds. She could tell from Daddy's involvement in the argument that Mommy was winning. Whenever he grew silent and walked away, Mommy had lost the fight.  
  
Now he was coming back down the hallway, pounding on the door with the flat of his hand. Summer flinched and drew her legs back, sniffling. Young lady, you get out here this instant! He hit the door again. Do you hear me? Unlock this door right now!  
  
Bruce, for God's sake, don't scare her!  
  
Will you _please_ let me handle this?  
  
You don't need to yell at her!  
  
Oh, and what should I do? Plead like you've been doing for the last hour? Because that clearly worked so well!  
  
Don't use that tone! Don't you _dare_ use that tone with me!  
  
What tone?!  
  
You know exactly what tone I mean!  
  
I can't _breathe_ in this house without you getting offended!  
  
I guess it's a good thing I'm leaving, then. There was a moment of chilly silence, then Mommy's voice right outside the door again. Summer, my plane leaves in an hour. I really wish you'd come out and say goodbye.   
  
Summer stuck her thumb in her mouth and didn't answer.  
  
When Mommy spoke again her voice sounded fragile and thin. Listen, sweetheart, I know I said I'd take you to the beach as soon as it was warm enough. But now I need to go away for a little while.  
  
Summer pulled her thumb out. But I don't want you to go!  
  
I don't want to go, either, sweetheart. But I'll be back soon. There's always next summer. Please come out and give me a hug before I go?  
  
Summer stood and reached for the doorknob with both hands, ready to open it. Daddy's voice, a venomous murmur, stopped her. Be back soon? For chrissake, Amy, do you have to sugarcoat everything? Why not just tell the kid the truth, that you're a spoiled princess who can't handle being a mother and you're running back to your parents in New York?  
  
Fuck you, Bruce, Mommy spat out the words. Fuck you.   
  
Summer backed away from the door, startled by the cold fury in Mommy's voice. She was used to the fighting, but this was different. Mommy had never used those mean words — those words Summer knew she was never, ever supposed to say, even though Daddy said them sometimes — before.  
  
Now who's the better parent? You think she needs to hear you say stuff like that? The door rattled. Look, she's clearly not coming out. Just say goodbye, okay?  
  
Mommy sounded rushed and tearful. Summer, my cab is waiting. I love you very, very much and I didn't mean — I don't want you to be sad. Goodbye, sweetheart. The heels clicked back down the hall, followed by Daddy's louder footsteps, then silence.  
  
Summer stared at the door, wiping at the snot beneath her nose with a chubby fist. Tears ran down the side of cheeks and dripped off her chin. Her breath coming in great gulps, she marched over to the bathtub. It took all her strength to turn on the faucet. She held a hand under the rushing water like she'd seen Mommy do, then, scrubbing at her tears with her other hand, climbed up onto the toilet seat to wait.  
  
She often sat on the toilet seat while waiting for Mommy to get ready, watching her in the mirror. First, Mommy would put on lipstick, blotting the scarlet on a tissue and handing it to Summer to throw in the garbage. Then eye shadow; she had a hundred shades, every imaginable type of blue and green, like iridescent mermaid's scales. She'd crouch to let Summer put on her necklace, her small fingers fumbling with the tiny clasp, then open the cabinet and take out the sleek blue bottle of her favorite perfume. One spray into the air, the scent of lily-of-the-valley, and she and Summer would twirl together in the fine mist.  
  
It was easy enough now for Summer to climb up onto the counter and open the cabinet, her fingers leaving grubby marks on the fogged up mirror. There was the perfume, with its gold top and scalloped edges. She reached for it, suddenly desperate to smell Mommy in the air, and tried to spray it like Mommy always did, but nothing came out. She started to climb back onto the toilet seat, the bottle clutched in one hand, but her searching foot missed the seat and she slipped, grabbing at the counter for balance.  
  
The bottle crashed from her hands into the sink. She peered down at the shards of bottle, feeling just as she had that morning when she'd broken the glass of juice and ruined her dress. Guilty and scared. Mommy hadn't been mad then, but she'd be mad when she saw this. She loved that perfume. But she had loved the dress too, and Summer had been surprised that she hadn't yelled. She had just looked sad, and they had gone home soon afterwards. Summer had sat in the back seat and watched Mommy click her shiny fingernails on the steering wheel. They hadn't turned on the radio and sung along like they normally did. And when they had walked in the door to see Daddy waiting in the front hall, instead of working in his office as usual, Summer had known something was wrong.  
  
A door slammed downstairs. Daddy was back in his office. He hadn't heard the glass break, he wasn't coming upstairs. And Mommy wasn't there to find her.   
  
The bathtub was almost full. Summer looked down at the front of her dress. It was dirty, and ugly, and she hated it now. It would never be pretty again. She turned off the water, unbuckled her sandals, and climbed into the tub with her dress still on. It bubbled out with trapped air, floating around her in a full circle, like a ballerina's tutu. She poked at the ballooning fabric, spreading it out, fanning it through the water. Wet, the material was sheer and clingy, a second skin. She scrubbed at the stain, trying to erase the damage.   
  
Daddy knocked on the door. He sounded hollow and stern. Your mother's gone. Time to come out.  
  
Summer slapped her hands down into the water. It splashed over the edge, but Mommy wasn't there to yell at her. She splashed more on the floor, on purpose this time.  
  
What are you doing in there?  
  
Taking a bath! She stretched her feet out to the end of the tub, kicking wildly. Water flew everywhere, spattering the floor and wallpaper.  
  
You know you're not supposed to take a bath alone. Get out right now, young lady!  
  
Summer leaned back until her ears were underwater. She couldn't hear him anymore. His voice was warped and faraway, the words sounded like a made-up language. She giggled and pressed her hands against the sides of the tub before going under completely. Everything was silent underwater, the light a glowing blur far above the surface. The tears on her face didn't matter anymore, wet as she was. It was so peaceful there, lying on the bottom of the bathtub, her hair a dark halo around her face. Next summer, when Mommy came back to take her to the beach, she would lie under the waves like this and stare up at the sun.  
  
She knew what drowning was; Mommy had explained it to her once when they were at a neighbor's pool. Mommy said she had to be careful, because people couldn't breathe underwater. Summer knew that was true. Already her lungs were growing tight.  
  
Still, she wished she wished she could stay there, submerged, forever.  
  


*


	2. Chlorine

**Feedback**: _Greatly appreciated._ I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.  
**Author's Notes**: The title and poetry are from the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot. It has been said that Seth has been planning his escape from Newport since he was five or six, setting the Cohen's return to Newport c. 1992. My version of Seth in this chapter seeks to establish why it was, through shared history among the children, that he is such an outcast. Children can be cruel, but they have their reasons.**  
Disclaimer**: I do not own any original characters or original plots. They belong to the creators of the OC universe. My other plots and prose and unique characters are all mine, copywrited December of 2003, and not for use without my permission.  
  


*  
  
**Chapter 2: Chlorine**  


  


_In the room the women come and go   
Talking of Michelangelo.   
  
And indeed there will be time   
To wonder, 'Do I dare?' and, 'Do I dare?'   
Time to turn back and descend the stair_  


  


*  


  
Monday, September 7, 1992:  


  
Sit still, hon, I can't finish if you keep moving around A hand rested lightly on Summer's head and turned it so she was looking forward again. Summer wriggled back into place, trying her very best to sit still. She wanted to admire her brand new white Keds, with the laces she could tie all by herself. But Zoë couldn't french-braid her hair if she kept swinging her legs.  
  
Zoë had been her baby-sitter for two years. Right after Mommy had left, Daddy had hired Zoë to stay with Summer during the day, and sometimes at night. Summer always thought of Zoë like sunshine, bright and beautiful and fun. She had blond curly hair that she wore pulled back with a headband, just like Keri on the Mickey Mouse Club. Whenever Summer asked, Zoë would paint her toenails or french-braid her hair. And unlike Mommy, she was always ready to play house or dolls.  
  
She never did take Summer to the beach, though. She said it was too dangerous, there weren't enough lifeguards, she might lose Summer. Instead, they went and used the pool at the country club, indoor in the winter and outdoor as soon as the weather was warm enough. After a few hours the chlorine always stung Summer's eyes, but she still had fun. She would play in the shallow end with the other kids her age, while Zoë sunbathed on a deck chair nearby and smiled at the boy lifeguards. She smiled at them differently than she smiled at Summer. Sometimes, Summer had noticed, she smiled at Daddy like that too. Smiled like she knew a secret.  
  
Okay, hon, you're all set. Zoë patted her head and leaned down. You ready to go?  
  
Summer slid off her bed and skipped over to the mirror on the back of her door. Her uniform — the standard issue blue plaid skirt and polo shirt of Newport Country Day — made her look like a real big girl. She had loved shopping for the uniform with Zoë, knowing that she would look like all the other girls on the first day.  
  
You're going to be the smartest girl in your class, I just know it. Zoë hopped off the bed and opened the door. Come on! I'll race you to the driveway.  
  
On the ride to school, Zoë let Summer sit up front. Mommy had never let her, but as long as she didn't tell Daddy, Zoë didn't mind. Summer pressed her nose to the glass as they pulled into the parking lot. She'd been irrepressible for the last week, over the moon with the idea of starting school. She could already write the whole alphabet, spell her full name, and Zoë's as well. She even knew that Zoë had two dots over the e in her name. She wondered if anyone else knew that much.  
  
Zoë held her hand as they joined the milling crowd of kindergartners and parents waiting in the courtyard, while Summer looked around her for the familiar faces of her friends from the pool. She saw Holly and Emily standing with their mothers and dragged Zoë towards them. It was always comforting to be around other mothers who looked like Mommy, with perfect hair and tailored pantsuits.  
  
Hello, Summer, Holly's mom smiled down at Summer.  
  
Emily was just asking me when you'd get here, Emily's mom added. Her smile faded as she looked askance at Zoë. I don't believe we've met.  
  
Zoë is Summer's _baby-sitter_, Holly's mom offered quickly, before Zoë could introduce herself.  
  
Emily's mom arched an eyebrow. I see. She shared an amused glance with Holly's mom.  
  
Zoë shifted nervously behind Summer, then crouched in front of her. Okay, hon, I've gotta go, or I'm gonna be late for class. She stood and smiled apologetically at the other women. I'm trying to finish up my business degree. They regarded her coolly.  
  
Then Zoë was gone, winding her way through the crowd. Holly and Emily were whispering together, being momentarily exclusive, so Summer stood slightly apart, looking carefully at her new classmates. Looking for smiling faces and potential friends. Looking for other mothers who reminded her of Mommy's sophisticated, comforting presence.  
  
Oh my god, Emily's mom exclaimed suddenly. Holly and Emily were still whispering and didn't seem to hear, but Summer looked up to see Emily's mom grasp Holly's mom's arm. Over there, isn't that—  
  
—Kirsten Nichol, you're right! I can't be_lieve_ it. I haven't seen her in years!  
  
Well, she hasn't been back here since she stopped speaking to her dad, Emily's mom explained. Over some loser she met at Berkeley, can you imagine? I guess that's over now.  
  
There's only one way to find out, Holly's mom said in an undertone, then called out brightly, Kirsten! Over here! Across the courtyard, a pretty blond woman looked over at them. A brief flicker of surprise crossed her face, then she smiled and walked in their direction. As she drew closer, Summer was able to her more clearly: she looked nothing like anyone Summer had ever seen in Newport. Her long blond hair wasn't permed or styled, but hung in a braid down her back. She was wearing jeans and open-toed sandals, and didn't seem to have any make-up on at all.  
  
Mandy, Laura, she greeted them warmly, it's great to see you.  
  
Holly's mom kissed her cheek, then stepped back, shaking her head. Kirsten Nichol, I really don't believe it. What are you doing here?  
  
Actually, it's Kirsten Cohen now. Kirsten brushed a strand of hair from her face, seeming not to notice the look that passed between the other two. And I'm here because I've moved back. I'm joining my dad's business.  
  
Well! That's exciting! How does it feel to be back?  
  
Kirsten grinned wryly.   
  
Emily's mom tilted her head. But what are you doing _here_?  
  
At that moment a skinny, dark haired boy ran straight into Kirsten's back, knocking her forward a step. Hey, there, kiddo, she said, as he wrapped his arms around her waist. This is my son, Kirsten explained. She pulled him in front of her, tousling his hair with a fond look on her face.  
  
I'm starting kindergarten today, Seth announced. Because I'm five. He held up five fingers.  
  
So what? Holly asked meanly, hands on her hips. I'm five too.  
  
Seth ignored her, dropping into a crouch to follow the path of an ant along the ground. His hair was curly and looked like it hadn't been trimmed in awhile. He tilted his head thoughtfully as he watched the ant's progress, a strangely adult gesture which was ruined when he stuck a finger up his nose.  
  
Summer whispered to Holly and Emily. He's picking his nose! They giggled wildly, smiling at her, and suddenly she felt included. After a minute Seth removed his finger, studied it, then wiped it on his pants. The three girls giggled harder.  
  
Are you excited to back in Newport, Seth? Holly's mom asked sweetly.  
  
Seth squinted up at her, appearing to ponder the question. Actually, I'm apathetic, he finally concluded, pronouncing the words with care.  
  
Holly's mom straightened abruptly and Kirsten looked embarrassed. Seth's a little precocious. She pulled him upright from his crouch, dusting at the front of his shirt.  
  
Where's your belt? Emily asked suddenly, accusingly. Her mother hushed her, and she protested, But it's part of the uniform!  
  
Where _is_ your belt? Kirsten demanded, inspecting Seth.  
  
What belt? he asked innocently. Kirsten gave him a look, and he giggled.  
  
Kirsten sighed. He's always losing things in the strangest places. I'd better go find his belt. Come on, mister. She hurried off, steering Seth in front of her and calling over her shoulder, Great seeing you again!  
  
Emily's mom remarked, after Kirsten had gone, _that_ was interesting.  
  
I'll say, Holly's mom agreed. She added softly, I heard that man from Berkeley was a penniless lawyer. From the _Bronx_.  
  
And they're living in Newport Beach now? Well, this is going to be _fun_.  
  
Emily was tugging on her mother's arm. Can Holly come over and play after school? Her mother hushed her with a pointed look in Summer's direction, and Summer knew she wasn't invited.  
  
The doors opened and the crowd began to drift into the school; a few kids were crying as they said goodbye to their parents. Summer felt a little like crying herself. She had thought that Emily and Holly were starting to include her, but the moment of closeness had apparently been fleeting. Now, as she stepped out of the sunlight into the cool, dark hallway of the building, starting school didn't seem like such a bright prospect after all.  
  


*  


  


It was late, but Summer couldn't sleep. After a long day at school, filled with the exhaustion of new routines and new faces, she wanted to tell Daddy about her day. But he was working late, and Zoë had made Summer go to bed before he came home. You've got school tomorrow, remember? she had asked, tucking the covers up to Summer's chin. When Summer had looked away, out the window, Zoë had smoothed her hair and asked her what was wrong. But Summer had just turned over and closed her eyes, unable to explain why she was upset.  
  
Mommy had promised in her last letter that she would call after Summer's first day. All afternoon Summer had watched the telephone, certain that it would ring at any moment. She wanted to tell Mommy all about her teacher, Miss Bell, and her classmates and her uniform and how she didn't get lost at school even once. But the house was silent, all afternoon. After dinner, Zoë had convinced her to go into the TV room and watch Beauty and the Beast, promising to fetch her if Mommy called. It wasn't until Summer was watching the closing scene of the movie that she had realized that the phone had remained silent.  
  
Mommy was living in New York City now. She sent Summer letters all about the city, about the bright lights and the opera tickets and taxi cabs, about the Sunday mornings with and bagels and lox. New York City was Mommy's home, and Summer's other grandparents still lived there. Zoë had helped Summer find New York City on a map, and it had looked so very far away from Newport. Summer wondered why Mommy wanted to be so far away from her; was she happier in New York City? Whenever Mommy called on the phone, she sounded different: breathless and excited. She was always in a hurry now, but this was the first time she had promised to call and forgotten.  
  
Downstairs, the front door slammed. Summer sat up in bed and peered out the front window. Daddy's car was in the driveway, and she could hear his voice downstairs. He was often out past her bedtime these days. She was used to listening to him arrive home, the murmur of voices as he checked in with Zoë, then Zoë leaving and him entering his office. Sometimes he worked late into the night, clicking away at his new personal computer that she wasn't allowed to touch. She waited, listening absently to the familiar sounds. After a few minutes, there was silence, and Summer climbed out of bed.  
  
She peered out into the hallway, then padded barefoot down the stairs, holding tight to the banister, her feet making no sound in the thick carpeting. It was dark downstairs, all the lights were out. The only light came from the streetlights outside and the open door to Daddy's office. Soft, murky jazz was playing softly from inside the room. Summer crept towards that square of warm yellow light, tiptoeing with anticipation.  
  
She had a vivid memory from before Mommy left, when she had woken up in the middle of the night and gone downstairs to find Daddy. She had poked her head into his office, watching him working seriously at his desk, shirtsleeves rolled up. After a few minutes, he had seen her, looked startled for a moment, then beckoned her inside. She had climbed up into his lap and he had kissed her hair and let her watch while he wrote on a notepad.   
  
After Mommy left, the door to his office was always closed.  
  
But now the door was open again, and Summer hoped that before he sent her back to bed he would let her tell him about her first day of school. It had been a long time since she had talked to him at all. She stepped into the light of the doorway, poised to run into the room, and froze.  
  
Daddy was sitting in his chair, but he wasn't alone. He was turned away from his computer, leaning back as he faced the door. Zoë was kneeling in front of him, her back to Summer, her head between his legs. He had both hands tangled in her curly hair, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. Oh yeah, baby, right there, Summer heard him whisper. Oh yeah. Zoë didn't answer, but her head began to move up and down as if she were nodding in agreement; Daddy groaned.  
  
Summer stood in the doorway, frozen, transfixed by this mysterious tableau. She felt certain that she shouldn't interrupt, although she had no idea why. But it seemed wrong to stand and stare without making a sound. She didn't know what she was seeing, couldn't understand the look of grim pleasure on Daddy's face, but she knew she was witnessing something important, something adult. Something that frightened her.  
  
Daddy opened his eyes, saw her, and sat upright with a jerk, roughly pushing Zoë away from him. Zoë fell back on her hands, turning to see Summer as well. Her eyes went wide and she froze, with one hand wiping at her mouth. You're supposed to be asleep, Daddy said hoarsely, fumbling with his belt as he stood up.  
  
Summer ran. Ignoring Daddy calling for her to come back, she scrambled back up the stairs and into her room, burrowing under the covers. Downstairs, Zoë was talking hurriedly, her voice anxious, and then the front door slammed. Daddy climbed the stairs, his tread weary.  
  
He knocked on the open door. She lay silently, wondering what he was going to say, what she wanted him to say. She had no idea what she wanted. No idea, really, why she was even upset. She supposed it was because she wished Daddy spent more time with her, instead of with Zoë. But now that he was here, in her room, she didn't want to talk to him anymore.  
  
He took one step towards her bed. Look, Summer, it may be hard for you to understand, but adults need friends just like children do. Zoë's always been your friend...but now she's my friend too. And most of the time, we can all be friends together. But sometimes Zoë and I will want to be friends...alone. The same way you sometimes like to play alone with _your_ friends. He coughed awkwardly. I hope you can understand that.  
  
Summer lifted her head off the pillow and stared at him, confused. Misinterpreting her look, he smiled and ruffled her hair. Of course you understand. You're a smart girl. He moved to the door, pulling it shut behind him. Good night.  
  
Summer rolled over and stuck her thumb in her mouth, something she hadn't done in over a year. Her eyes stung with tears, tears she was trying to hold back because she couldn't explain them. The stinging at the corners of her eyelids reminded her of all the times she'd opened her eyes underwater at the pool. She always wanted to be able to see clearly, but every time the chlorine burned her eyes.  
  


*


	3. Mermaid

**Feedback**: _Greatly appreciated._ I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.  
**Author's Notes**: The title and poetry are from the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot. I felt it was pretty well-established in The Girlfriend that Summer's birthday was that Wednesday, the 13th of August.**  
Disclaimer**: I do not own any original characters or original plots. They belong to the creators of the OC universe. My other plots and prose and unique characters are all mine, copywrited December of 2003, and not for use without my permission.  
  


*  
  
**Chapter 3: Mermaid  
**  
_I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.   
  
I do not think that they will sing to me.   
  
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves   
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back   
When the wind blows the water white and black.  
_   
*  


  


Sunday, August 13, 1995  
  
The card stood upright on the spotless marble counter, a bright pink square in the sea of white that was the kitchen. It was the first thing Summer saw when she entered the room, still yawning. She had been expecting a birthday cake, or presents, or at least Daddy opening a box of donuts for a special breakfast. But there was only the card.  
  
She picked it up, studied the glittery picture of a rose, the curly cursive that spelled out _To my beautiful daughter_. On the inside, Daddy had added a message in his scrawl:_ Happy 8th birthday, Princess! Sorry I had to work. Love, Daddy. P.S. Check the living room._  
  
Summer hated the nickname Daddy didn't know that she still remembered him calling Mommy that, the day she left. It hadn't been a nice name then, and the word still held the sting from all those years ago. Of course, Daddy didn't mean anything by it. He thought it was sweet. And Summer wasn't going to tell him to stop.  
  
Check the living room, it said. She dropped the card on the counter and ran back towards the front of the house. There, sitting on the couch, was a brand new American Girl Doll. Summer already had Felicity and Molly, but this was the modern doll that was made to look exactly like her. It had straight brown hair and dark eyes, and was wearing a cool red jumper. Beside the doll was a box, and in the box — once she'd torn off the pink floral paper — was a matching outfit, just her size. Delighted, Summer tossed aside the box and ran upstairs to her room, the doll in one hand and the outfit in the other.  
  
She slipped on the black turtleneck, the funny argyle stockings, and the red jumper, then grabbed the doll and studied herself in the mirror. They looked like twins. Summer giggled with delight at her reflection, then hopped back downstairs, hugging the doll to her chest. She landed in the front hall and looked around, her happiness fading. There was no one to share in her gleeful celebration; the house was silent.  
  
It had been just a month since Zoë had gone, leaving the house empty and Summer all alone. Zoë had been a part of the family for three years, and two of those years had been happy. During that time Daddy had come home earlier in the evening, kissing Zoë and hugging Summer before he'd even set down his briefcase. Soon after Summer had started kindergarten Zoë had moved in; if Summer had a nightmare she could find Zoë sleeping in Mommy's old spot, beside Daddy in bed.  
  
Once, though, she had walked in to find Daddy lying on top of Zoë, kissing her. Zoë was in her underwear, and Daddy had been annoyed. After that, Summer knew to knock.  
  
That was back when things were peaceful. Last year, Daddy had started to work longer hours again, sometimes not returning until late at night. When he was home, he had spent more time in his office, and snapped if Summer tried to ask him a question. Zoë had smiled less. Once, Summer had caught her crying in the bathroom. There had been tension in the house, and arguments that had started when they thought Summer was asleep. But she'd always stayed awake and listened to the loud voices below, peering through the banister at the top of the stairs.  
  
Often the name Miranda had surfaced. Summer had wondered why Zoë hated Daddy's secretary, who had always seemed so nice. But most of their fights had included Miranda, Miranda who stayed late to help Daddy with his work and left friendly messages on the answering machine. Zoë had called Miranda a and other words Summer didn't know but understood were mean by the way Zoë had said them.  
  
And then one morning, Zoë was gone. Daddy hadn't said where she was, or why she left. He'd merely told Summer that it was time for Zoë to leave, and that he expected Summer to be a big girl and take care of herself.  
  
Summer could take care of herself, but she was lonely. Especially today, because it was her birthday. She set the doll down on the counter, stroking a wisp of hair back into place, and wondered what she should name it. Last year, Emily's mother had been pregnant, and Emily was allowed to pick the name for her baby brother or sister. She had enlisted Holly and Summer to help her decide on the perfect name. They'd eventually settled on Eric for a boy and Jasmine for a girl. Emily's new sibling had been a boy — much to her mother's apparent relief — but Summer still liked the name Jasmine.  
  
Later, I'll take you upstairs and you can meet your sisters, she told Jasmine, beginning to braid her hair. Their names are Molly and Felicity and the three of you will be best friends.  
  
The words gave her a twinge as she said them. Emily and Holly weren't friends with her at the moment. The last few years had been rocky for her when it came to these friendships. Emily and Holly were best friends with each other first, and friends with her second. Sometimes they liked her, inviting her to play dolls or go to the pool, and sometimes they ignored her, whispering secrets and choosing each other as partners for school projects. The instability of this friendship left Summer constantly unsure of where she stood. She always tried to be nice: she complimented their clothing and brought gifts to play-dates and never ever argued, even when they made her be the bad guy in every game they played. It didn't matter what she had to do, as long as she stayed in their good graces.   
  
But sometimes it wasn't enough, and she found herself playing with her dolls instead of her peers.  
  
This time, she was angry about it. Just four days ago she'd been at the pool with Holly and Emily, and she'd suggested playing mermaids, a game where there were no villains, and they could splash about in the shallow end. But Emily wanted to jump off the diving board, never mind that Summer hadn't passed the swim test yet and couldn't join her, so she and Holly had run off. They had spent the rest of the afternoon ignoring her, and when they dropped Summer off first, even though Holly's house was closer, Summer knew they were having a sleep over. Without her. She had done her best to glare at them before storming into the house, deciding that she was sick of their stupid games and she wasn't going to care anymore if they enjoyed excluding her.  
  
Besides, she'd show them. Daddy had promised her a huge birthday party before school started, and she would invite everyone in the third grade except for Holly and Emily. And Seth Cohen. No one ever invited Seth Cohen because he was weird. Worse, he was a tattletale. Last spring Luke had climbed to the very top of the monkey bars and stood on the rungs, and everyone had been so impressed. But Seth had told Mrs. Green and Luke had been given indoor recess for a week.  
  
Just thinking about it made Summer almost as mad as she was about Holly and Emily. But she wouldn't let them ruin her birthday, not one bit. She didn't need them to have fun.  
  
Come on, she said to Jasmine. I'll show you _Princess _Jasmine. She's in the movie Aladdin' and she's really pretty. She got herself a bowl of cereal, carefully using two hands to pour the milk, then carried both bowl and Jasmine into the TV room. She curled up on the austere grey couch, nestled in the corner while Jasmine sat beside her and watched the movie sweep by with a bland, fixed smile on her face.  
  
After was over, Summer searched through the tapes in the tidy shelves of the entertainment center. She selected The Little Mermaid, and went to make herself a peanut butter sandwich while the tape rewound. There was one upside to taking care of herself: she could leave off the jelly when she made peanut butter sandwiches, and use as much chocolate syrup as she liked in her chocolate milk.  
  
Summer loved The Little Mermaid, but she kind of thought Ariel was dumb. Why would she give up the ability to swim, her beautiful jewel-toned world with exotic fish and sapphire light? Why would she want to walk around on the boring land when she had a shimmering tail, underwater castles, and fun friends like Flounder and Sebastian? It didn't make any sense, and every time she watched the song Under the Sea Summer hoped Ariel would listen to Sebastian and decide to stay. Stupid Prince Eric, ruining everything.  
  
The clock in the living room chimed two, the time when the mail came every day. Summer paused the movie and ran towards the door, stopping short in the tiled front hall and sliding the last few feet. The mail hadn't arrived yet. She peered through the brass mail slot, and a breath of warm air hit her in the face. It was mid-afternoon, and the temperature felt as though it was nearing 100 degrees. Through the mail slot she could see a bright rectangle of the front yard — technicolor in comparison to the dim shadows inside — and the empty street. She kept her eyes pressed to the mail slot, hoping to surprise the mailman when he came. Maybe he'd see the birthday cards in the mail and wish her a happy birthday.  
  
Then she remembered: it was Sunday. There was no mail on Sundays. Summer sat down with her back to the door, feeling stupid. Maybe the card had come yesterday, and Daddy had forgotten to tell her? Mommy's letters were sometimes early and often just on time, never late. She jumped to her feet and pushed open the door to Daddy's office; yesterday's mail was still in a neat pile on his desk. She flipped through the stack, searching for the cream-colored envelope with the familiar return address: New York, NY. It wasn't there. She checked again, more slowly this time. No letter.  
  
Mommy always sent her a card on her birthday. Over the years her other cards, the conversational ones, had dwindled, but she never forgot the important ones. Every birthday, every Christmas, every June 9th when another year had passed a letter would arrive, bearing news, sometimes pictures, and always the promise of a visit to New York in the near future.  
  
But there was no letter.  
  
Summer threw the pile of mail down. It didn't matter. It wasn't like she needed another card where Mommy bragged about stupid New York City and made empty promises about how she was fixing up a room for Summer when she visited. Besides, a card would probably show up tomorrow. Maybe she'd mailed it a day late, forgetting that there was no mail on Sunday.  
  
Summer returned to the movie, but she couldn't concentrate. Jasmine was staring at her, looking smug. Stop staring, Summer told the doll, laying her down on the couch so her eyes automatically closed. She crossed her arms over her chest, sulking as stupid Prince Eric tried to kiss Ariel. Stupid Ariel, who was just another selfish person who didn't care if she left her family and friends behind.   
  
Summer turned off the movie abruptly. She was sick and tired of people forgetting about her. Daddy was at work, Zoë hadn't called, Holly and Emily were ignoring her. And Mommy hadn't even sent her a card. Mommy had forgotten her.  
  
The anger was empowering. It gave her the strength to storm back to Daddy's office and find a blank pad of paper. To perch on his chair beside the whirring of the new computer and begin a letter she hadn't even known she wanted to write.  
  
_Dear Mommy_, she wrote carefully, in her best cursive. _I wish..._ But she wasn't sure what she wished. A thousand ideas jumbled about in her head. I wish I had a Mommy like Holly and Emily. I wish I could visit you. I wish you hadn't left me. I wish you would die.  
  
Birthdays were for wishes, even if she didn't have a cake. Summer closed her eyes and tried to think of what her real wish was. If she could be anywhere right now, where would she be the most content? Where would people care about her, and appreciate her, and worry when she wasn't there? Where would she be surrounded by friends and people who loved her? She thought of Ariel, and King Triton worrying about her safety, saying how much he'd miss her.  
  
She opened her eyes and erased the opening, the part addressed to Mommy. Then, carefully, she picked up where she'd left off. _I wish I was a mermaid, and was friends with all the fish..."  
  
_

*  


  


  
_Yeah, yeah, I know the poem was from the sixth grade. But it was pretty simplistic and we have no proof that she didn't write it before that.  
  
Thanks for sticking with me this far, guys. I'm really have a great time writing this, because Summer's such a fascinating character. The more I try to explain the of who she is, the more the pieces fall into place.  
  
Next up: New Year's Eve, 1996!_


	4. Lagoon

**Rating**: heavy PG-13 for language, sexual innuendo, and drug use.  
**Feedback**: _Greatly appreciated._ I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.  
**Author's Notes**: The title and poetry are from the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot.  


  
*  
  
**Chapter 4: Lagoon  
**  
_I know the voices dying with a dying fall   
Beneath the music from a farther room.   
So how should I presume?_  
  
*  


  


Tuesday, December 31, 1996:  
  
The heavy bass beat practically shook the floorboards, vibrating the windows with every note, but Summer didn't mind. At this point, she was used to loud music filling the house on weekend nights. She even liked it, a little. The vibrant hum from the rest of the house furthered the feeling that her room was an oasis, a calm lagoon amidst the turbulent waters of the house. Her room was her quiet sanctuary; when she was in there, cuddled up under her comforter or playing with her dolls and stuffed animals, she might as well have been on a different planet.  
  
At the moment Summer was dressed up in her favorite pair of pants — black velour with a stylish flare at the bottom — and a glittery purple shirt she'd received for Christmas. She had decked herself out in a red feather boa and heart-shaped sunglasses from her dress-up box, and was lip-synching in front of her mirror to the Spice Girls' It wasn't as much fun without Holly and Emily singing with her. For Halloween, the three of them had dressed up as the Spice Girls: Holly was Baby Spice, Emily was Ginger Spice, and Summer was Posh Spice. Summer had been secretly delighted that Emily and Holly had said she should be Posh, as it was commonly agreed among the three of them that Victoria Adams was the prettiest.   
  
The three girls had been having a good spell since the beginning of the school year. Summer was pretty sure it was because she and Emily were both in Mr. O'Sullivan's class, while Holly was alone in Ms. Andrew's. It had balanced the unequal dynamics in the group. In fact, the three of them had been planning to spend New Year's together at Emily's house, it being the first time they were being allowed to stay up until midnight, but at the last minute Emily's grandmother had died and Holly had come down with the flu. The party was canceled. Summer was good at entertaining herself for hours on end, but she missed her friends.  
  
She twirled on the last note of the song and raced to her desk. The clear phone on her desk was another Christmas present, the very first thing on the list she'd presented to Daddy at the beginning of December. She was the only one of her friends to have her own phone; it was one more thing that had raised her status in the trio.  
  
She dialed the number by memory, feeling very grown-up. It rang four times, then Holly picked up, Hello, Fisher residence.  
  
Hi, it's Summer! Summer bounced onto her bed. How are you?  
  
I'm okay. Holly sounded very small and young, not her usually outgoing self. She was definitely sick. Summer felt a wave of relief. After years of Holly and Emily's lies, she was always a little worried that they were still going to trick her. I'm just nauseous.  
  
Are you gonna throw up?  
  
I don't know. Holly sounded close to tears. I wish my mom was here.  
  
Summer felt immediately sorry for Holly. She knew how hard it was to be sick with no one to take care of her. Feverish hours seemed to pass five times more slowly than healthy ones. She avoided illness at all costs, desperately hoping each winter would pass without even a cold. Your mom's not there?  
  
Holly sniffled. She and Dad went to a party and they couldn't find a baby-sitter.  
  
Oh. Which party? Summer wondered if Daddy had invited the Fishers over.  
  
I don't know, but I heard Dad mention something about swings. Holly giggled weakly. Maybe they're at the playground?  
  
Summer agreed, studying her toenails. She wanted to paint them red tonight. I bet they go and do all that stuff that they always tell us not to do. Like swinging really high.  
  
Or jumping off, Holly added. They laughed together, and chatted for a few more minutes before Holly excused herself to try and sleep.  
  
Summer hung up feeling a little bit nauseous herself, but knowing it was better that she'd decided not to tell Holly the truth. She knew exactly what swingers parties were. Daddy had gone to one last New Year's, and the next morning when she'd checked to see if he was home, he'd been fast asleep in bed with a woman who was definitely not his girlfriend. But unlike previous new women that arrived abruptly, Summer had never seen that new woman again, and his original girlfriend was back by that evening.  
  
That had been Tina. Or Heidi. Summer couldn't even remember; there'd been so many in the last two years. Daddy's brief fling with Miranda had fed into Keira, then Bernadette, then Carla. And others after her. It hadn't taken long for Summer to realize that unlike Zoë, none of these girlfriends were going to stay long. They would arrive on the scene, bright and laughing and vibrant, shooting coy looks over their shoulders at Daddy. Most of them cooed over how _adorable_ Summer was, showering her with gifts and taking her to the mall and dressing her in fancy clothes. But all that would end once they had Daddy where they wanted him. Soon, they'd be sweeping past Summer in the hallway with the faintest of smiles, locking Daddy's office door and leaving Summer alone to listen to the variety of noises that would emerge.   
  
Summer learned to smile about it, because inevitably Daddy found someone new. She was the only permanent girl in the house.  
  
She was actually surprised that Daddy's latest, Cori, had lasted since October. Cori had been one of the more fun ones, and Summer hadn't been able to help liking her. Not only had Cori taken Summer to the mall, where'd she'd bought Summer her first bra, she'd also taken Summer out on her jet ski, laughing as they splashed over the sunlit waves. Cori wasn't scared of anything. Despite herself, Summer found herself hoping that things wouldn't change this time, that Cori would stay fun and friendly.  
  
That was before the parties had started. In the past, Daddy had entertained occasionally. He had hosted a few elegant soirees, with women in black cocktail dresses and men drinking champagne. Mostly work-related. But Cori was young, and her friends were loud and wild in a way that was completely new to Summer. Almost every weekend since Cori's arrival the house had been filled with blaring music and crowds of young people. Daddy seemed to be enjoying this new lifestyle, which made sense when Summer thought about it. He usually found new girlfriends because he was bored, but Cori was always entertaining.  
  
Except that Summer didn't find her so entertaining anymore. Not after the fight that morning, Summer's first fight with one of Daddy's girlfriends.  
  
Cori had been talking for weeks about her fancy New Year's Eve party, and Summer _really_ wanted to go. After months of watching sparkly, exciting people arriving through her bedroom curtains, she was desperate to be among them for once. Especially during the the most important, most glittery night of the year, special and different from all the parties of the past. She had even picked out the perfect dress.   
  
It wasn't fair, she had argued to Daddy, she had never asked to come to a party before but now she didn't have any plans and she really, really, wanted to come to this one! She had promised that she'd behave, that she'd be polite and quiet and go to bed right after midnight. But Cori had pulled Daddy into his office, her voice emerging through the doors, low and persuasive. Afterwards, Daddy had sat Summer down and explained to her that Cori was right: this kind of party wasn't appropriate for little girls like her.  
  
She had begged, raged, stomped her foot and cried. Didn't he always call her his big girl? Didn't she always do well in school and take care of herself and behave herself? But it hadn't mattered at all. Daddy had stood firm, and it had been the first time he hadn't given Summer what she wanted. The fact that Cori had been responsible for this denial had immediately hardened Summer's heart towards her.   
  
The dress was still hanging on the door of her closet. It was royal blue velvet, very grown-up and elegant, and she'd been dying for a chance to wear it. She was sure this party — which she imagined would look like a Hollywood event, or a fancy wine advertisement in a magazine — would be the perfect opportunity for Daddy to see her as a real young lady. Summer bit her lip as she eyed the dress, an idea formulating in her mind. It wasn't as if she'd been locked in her room; besides, there were so many people downstairs Daddy wouldn't notice her until it was too late. She could waltz in, charm the guests like she charmed all adults, and wait until Cori entered the room so she could shoot her a triumphant grin.  
  
Five minutes later she was wearing the dress and strapping on her platform dress shoes. She wished she had time to paint her toenails, but it didn't really matter. Her hair was crimpy because she'd braided it last night. She looked perfect, _definitely_ a big girl. She'd show Daddy that she was grown up enough for his New Year's party.  
  
The music was ten times louder outside her room, and Summer resisted the urge to cover her ears. The grown-ups didn't seem to mind the noise, so she wouldn't either. She tripped a little on the first few steps, unused to her high heels, and steadied herself against the bannister. The staircase curved gracefully into the front hall and connected living room, both packed full of people. Summer felt a little like a fairy tale princess, making her dramatic entrance on the grand staircase at the royal ball.  
  
Halfway down the staircase she stopped, daydreams of elegant courtiers and admiring smiles erased. The familiar downstairs, usually so clean and white and tasteful, had been transformed into something out of a nightmare. Sweaty and loud and hot, flashes of limbs and bare skin writhed together in the cavernous darkness. Summer stopped on the ground, disoriented, too short to see above the crowd of dancing adults. She looked around for a familiar face, but the people were a dim, disorienting blur.  
  
A woman wearing only a short skirt and a bra lurched through the doorway, slumping against the wall as she drank liquor straight from a bottle. A man appeared behind her, catching her around the waist and pulling her into the bathroom. She laughed crazily as the door slammed shut. Summer walked into the living room , drawn by the power of curiosity. A woman was dancing on the glass coffee table, slowly removing her skirt while a circle of men cheered her on. The other furniture had been pushed to the wall to leave room for the dancing. A bunch of people at the edge of the room were passing around a short, funny-looking cigarette; Summer wrinkled her nose at the odd smell.  
  
There was a slurred shout, and two men went barreling past, one throwing a punch that sent the other flying backwards into the hall. Her heart pounding, Summer pressed back against the wall. She was certain that the other adults would break up the fight, but only a few guys followed them and they seemed to be egging on the fight.  
  
Thoroughly overwhelmed, Summer decided that she would just find Daddy and Cori, make her point, and return to her room. She was starting to get a headache. She turned just in time to see Daddy stride behind her through the hall, laughing. she called out, but the music was too loud. He couldn't hear her, and she chased after him, shoving past tall bodies in order to keep him in sight.  
  
Daddy entered his office with Cori and another woman. Summer stopped outside, a familiar feeling of dejá vu keeping her rooted in the doorway. Even though the door had swung half-closed behind them, Summer had a clear view of the desk, of Daddy setting up a mirror and pouring a line of white powder onto it. Cori shot him a small smile, then bent, plugged one nostril, and breathed in a line of the powder through a tube. She straightened, tilted her head back as she rubbed her nose, then leaned over and kissed Daddy while the second woman followed her example.  
  
Then it was Daddy's turn. He snorted the white power — Summer wasn't sure what it was, maybe sugar or chalk dust? — and Cori turned to the other woman and kissed her on the mouth. It wasn't the same kind of kiss Summer usually saw between two women, a polite peck on the lips or the cheek, but a long kiss. She thought she saw the woman touch Cori's breast, but it was too dark to be sure. Daddy breathed in a second line of the powder, then started to unbutton his shirt. Watching the two women with a half smile, he strode backwards to the door. Summer knew this was her chance to say something, to alert Daddy to her presence. But she remained silent as the door shut firmly in her face. Happy New Year, she heard Daddy murmur, but not to her.  
  
Suddenly, she didn't care about being at the party anymore. She wasn't having fun. All she wanted was to be back up in her room, away from all these people. She turned and climbed the stairs, starting to run once she reached the hallway. She slammed the door to her room, unbuckled her shoes in a hurry, and sat down against the door.  
  
The air in her room was cool and clean and refreshing after the stifling heat downstairs. Summer stroked the blue plush carpet that she'd picked out herself, picked out because it reminded her of the ocean. As did her turquoise comforter, and her mural with the fish and the delicate tendrils of seaweed. Daddy had hired a real artist to paint it last year. Even the lamp beside her bed had ceramic seashells and sand at the base.   
  
Yawning, she switched out the light and climbed into bed, the party downstairs already fading away like a bad dream. The glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling lit up like extraordinary constellations. Summer studied them until her eyes closed involuntarily and she drifted away on the gentle waves of sleep, safe in the waters of her tranquil lagoon.  
  


*  


  
  
_I hope you enjoyed this latest installment. Please take a second to let me know what you think; I really appreciate every comment or observation that gets sent my way!  
  
Those of you wondering where Marissa is, hold on until March of 1998, coming up next!_


	5. Oceans

**Rating**: heavy PG-13 for language and sexual innuendo.  
**Feedback**: _Greatly appreciated._ I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.  
**Author's Notes**: The title and poetry are from the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot. They're (hopefully) pretty relevant to the subject of the chapter. In this chapter, I'm trying to begin the establishment of the popular, nasty Summer, yet make her evolution understandable and sympathetic. Also, as promised, take a first look at early Marissa!  


  
*  
  
**Chapter 5: Oceans**  
  
_Deferential, glad to be of use,   
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;   
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;   
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--   
Almost, at times, the Fool._  
  
*  


  
Friday, March 6, 1998:  
  
Okay, listen up. Ms. Diaz held up her hand for silence, casting a stern eye over the group of fifth graders. We're here in the library until the end of the day. Your papers are due on Monday, so you should try to get as much done today as possible. She grinned, flashing the youthful dimples that made her one of the most beloved teachers in the school. You want to be able to enjoy your weekend, right?  
  
Summer peered behind Peter's back to grin at Emily. They were planning the best sleep over ever for that evening: Emily's dad worked in Hollywood, and he had promised them an early release copy of The fifth grade girls had been buzzing about the news for a week. Sleep overs with Holly, Emily, and Summer had become a big deal in the last year and a half. It had started with just the three of them, every Friday and most Saturdays, but had soon extended to various other girls who fell into their good graces. Now it was standard gossip at the lunch table, who had merited an invitation this week, and who hadn't been invited back.  
  
Wielding that kind of power made Summer secretly happy. For years she'd been jealous of Emily and Holly, their friendship and perfect lives. But now she was equal to them, part of an influential triumvirate among the girls in her grade. Suddenly, everybody wanted to be friends with her. Girls lent her their new colored pencils and offered to trade their cookies for her apple at lunch. She didn't have to spend time at home anymore, if she didn't want to.  
  
I'll be over there if you have any questions, Ms. Diaz was saying, pointing to a table in the far corner to the library. Work quietly.  
  
The kids scattered, some to the stacks to do research, some to the tables to work on their essays. Summer settled with Emily and Holly at a table against the wall, not bothering to look up when Ashley and Rose sat across from them. She'd learned from watching Emily that indifference was the key to social power. It was hard, with Rose always trying to catch her eye and smile, but she managed to keep her head down and her arm curled protectively around her paper, tuning out the giggles and gossip while she worked.  
  
The hiss and the pen poked in her side were hard to ignore. She looked at Emily, wondering what was so important.  
  
  
  
Seth Cohen is _staring_ at you!  
  
Summer whipped around in her seat. Sure enough, Seth was sitting two tables behind them, but he was staring at a book. After a moment he lifted his head, saw she was still looking, and dropped his gaze in a hurry, chewing on the end of a pencil. Summer hissed, turning back to her friends. He's so gross!  
  
It was true. No one ever liked working in groups with Seth Cohen because he usually smelled slightly like stale sweat, especially right after recess. The white shirt of his uniform was always tinged faintly yellow under the arms, leading the girls to wonder if he had ever heard of deodorant.  
  
He's still staring, Rose reported, watching surreptitiously over Summer's shoulder.  
  
Maybe he's looking at all of us. Summer hoped desperately that this was true. She was terrified that she'd become associated with Seth, just because the weirdo had a crush on her or something. She wiped a sweaty hand across the top of her plaid skirt.  
  
Ashley shook her head. No, he's staring at you.  
  
He likes you! Holly giggled, poking at Summer's shoulder. Seth and Sum-mer, sittin' in a tree!  
  
Summer begged. The last thing she needed was for one of the guys to overhear. They'd never stop teasing her. And she'd die if Greg Bliss found out. Greg with his perfect freckled nose and blond mushroom-cut hair. Greg who even managed to look handsome in the school uniform, because the blue matched the color of his eyes. When the girls kept laughing, Summer hardened the edge in her voice. I mean it! Stop! They stared at her, giggles dying out. She rolled her eyes. Let's just keep working, okay?  
  
For a few minutes their table was silent as each girl returned to her essay, either scribbling on scratch paper or copying out a final draft in her neatest cursive. Rose got up to ask Ms. Diaz a question, and Ashley twirled her pencil on the table, looking bored. She had the shortest attention span of any of the girls in the class, which was one of the many reasons Summer found her annoying.  
  
Ashley leaned forward, breaking the silence. What are you writing about, Holly?   
  
The class had just finished reading The Giver, and had spent a lot of time discussing the word utopia, and what that meant. Ms. Diaz had assigned them to write about what they would miss most if they had to live in Jonas's utopian world, which was perfect but bland.  
  
The color pink, Holly answered. She read aloud from her essay. I think if I lived in Jonas's world I would miss the color pink the most. I would miss pink because it is a pretty color. Without pink, the world wouldn't be as pretty.  
  
That's such a good idea! Ashley propped her chin in her hand. You must be really smart. Holly smiled smugly and Summer decided not to tell her that she'd spelled incorrectly.  
  
What about _you_, Summer?  
  
Summer pushed a dark lock of hair behind her ear and sighed. I haven't decided yet. She ignored Ashley's sympathetic look and jumped to her feet. I'll be right back. The truth was, she _had_ decided: if she had to live in a bland utopia she knew she'd miss the ocean most of all. But she felt silly saying so in front of her friends. All the girls were doing colors of the rainbow, or their pets. And all the boys were writing about electric appliances, like TV and video games. Summer didn't want to be different from everyone else.  
  
She slipped into the stacks, gravitating towards the 500s by habit, tracing over the covers of books. She was familiar with most of the books in the ocean section. Her favorite was The Pacific Ocean, with the tropical orange fish on the cover and the vivid photographs inside. It was impossible to imagine life without the jewel-toned coral reefs, the spider-like baby crabs, the silvery flashes of fish darting through shallow water. All the ideas for her essay, the best essay she'd written all year, were right there.  
  
But if she came back carrying the book, everyone would want to know why. With a sigh, she reached up to replace the book on its shelf, only to freeze, stretched on tiptoe. Someone was standing on the other side of the shelf, watching her. As soon as she looked straight at the eyes they disappeared, followed by a clunk as several books fell to the floor. Holding her book tight to her chest, Summer walked slowly around to the next row.  
  
Seth Cohen was crouched on the floor, hurriedly shoving books back onto the wrong shelf. One of his oversized sneakers was untied. When he saw her standing above him he jumped and fell backwards on his hands.  
  
Were you watching me? Summer demanded.  
  
His eyes darted between her and the end of the row, as if gauging the distance to freedom.   
  
She set her book down on the edge of the shelf, glaring at him. You're a liar, Seth Cohen.  
  
No, I'm not! he protested, looking stubborn.  
  
You'd better stop, or I'm telling Ms. Diaz! He stared up at her without blinking, and she backed away. I mean it!  
  
Seth tried to scramble to his feet. At the last minute, however, he tripped over his shoelaces and fell back against the book shelf. The book she'd left behind, already balanced precariously, fell off the shelf and him square in the face.  
  
Almost immediately, his nose started to bleed. He caught the first dribble of blood with a finger, pressing the back of his hand to his nostrils, head tilted back. His eyes met Summer's, and she felt guilty, seeing the embarrassment there. She dismissed the feeling almost immediately: it wasn't her fault he was so clumsy.  
  
A little bit of blood dripped onto his white shirt. Summer backed away, moving into the main room. Luckily Ms. Diaz was nearby, yelling at the boys' table; Brad and Peter were throwing paperclips again. Summer caught her just as she turned to leave, pointing to the stacks. Ms. Diaz, Seth's nose is bleeding.  
  
Oh, not again! Seth? Ms. Diaz walked quickly toward the bookshelves, looking worried. Summer returned to her seat and sat down, pretending not to notice as Ms. Diaz steered Seth past, urging him to keep his head tilted back so he didn't bleed on the carpet. As they left the library, Peter stood up and imitated Seth's awkward stumbling gait, his head tilted exaggeratedly back. The rest of the boys were practically on the floor, laughing. Peter stumbled over until he was standing in front of Summer.  
  
What happened to Seth's nose? he asked. Did you try to kiss him, Summer? He made a kissy face.  
  
Summer was suddenly aware that the rest of the class was watching her, connecting her in their minds to Seth Cohen. She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't have Emily and Holly thinking of her as tainted in some way. She'd spent so many years trying to be the same as everyone else. And she definitely could _not_ risk losing the sleep overs. If she didn't have a friend's house to go to every weekend, she wasn't sure what she'd do.   
  
She wasn't as good at being mean as Emily and Holly were, but right now she had to try.  
  
Ew, no! she sneered. How should I know? He was probably picking his nose again! It was surprisingly easy to adopt the superior tone she often heard her classmates employ. And the resounding laughter made her relax, leaning back in her chair. The focus was off her for now.  
  
Peter continued with the Seth impressions until Ms. Diaz returned, pulling his pants up higher to imitate Seth's eternally ill-fitting uniform. The girls abandoned the pretense of maturity, joining in the raucous laughter as well. Summer pushed aside a twinge of guilt at the further teasing that awaited Seth, telling herself that it wasn't a big deal. Besides, so what if they laughed at him? They laughed at him all the time; he didn't need to drag her down with him. She couldn't expect for someone like him to possibly understand — how could he when he didn't have any friends? — but she couldn't risk her friendships right now. She couldn't risk Emily's disdain. Not when Emily held power over the weekly sleep overs.  
  
And so she laughed as well. It wasn't even that hard to pretend.  
  


*  


  
The doorbell rang as Summer finished stuffing her pajamas into her suitcase. It was probably for Cori. Ever since she had moved in last spring, all doorbells and phone calls were for her. Friends dropping by, deliveries of beer or take-out food. Slurred, yelling voices in the middle of the night.  
  
Cori's takeover of the house would have been bad enough, given Summer's lingering dislike of her, but Cori hadn't been alone. As it turned out, wherever Cori went, her friends went too. Now there were always strangers in the house. Summer often longed for the days when she'd had the house to herself; she'd been lonely but it had been quiet. And clean.  
  
She hurried to the top of the stairs, peering over so she could the front door below. Cori was consulting with a nervous looking man who was wearing dark sunglasses. He was one of the regulars who never came inside, but often arrived at their doorstep at all hours of the day. Summer knew this scene well: Cori and he would talk for a few minutes, then he'd hand her plastic bags of powder or pills and walk away counting his hundred dollar bills. After her fifth grade health class, Summer knew exactly what was in those bags: drugs.   
  
The whole exchange usually took a few minutes. Summer pushed herself back, away from the bannister and hurried down the hall to Daddy and Cori's bedroom. She had promised the girls that she'd bring fancy clothing for them to play dress-up, and she had just enough time to sneak in and out unnoticed.  
  
The door was half open, revealing a space that was almost comically asymmetrical. Daddy was never home these days; he left early in the morning and sometimes didn't return at night. His side of the room was pristine, untouched. Cold and immaculate. Whereas Cori's was a scattered mess of clothing, magazines, shoes, and dishes. Summer picked her way carefully through the mess, pulling out a few sparkly dresses, a slinky skirt. She grabbed at a brightly colored scarf that she'd admired when Cori had worn it last week. It was heavier than she expected, and when she shook it loose it unraveled, spilling a few syringes onto the floor.  
  
Crouching, clothes clutched to her chest, Summer paused to examine the small needles. Her health teacher had explained all about what they were for, and how dangerous it was to use and share them. The information hadn't scared Summer then, but she'd never found any in the house before.  
  
The front door slammed and she dropped the needles, replacing the scarf over them and running all the way back to her room. Her hand felt like it was burning; she rubbed it against her jeans, trying to erase the feel of the narrow needles. Did Daddy know about them? He provided Cori with the money for her other drugs, but Summer thought he'd probably object to those syringes. Then again, he was home too infrequently to ever notice. She was pretty sure he had a new girlfriend.  
  
A car honked outside. Cori shouted up the stairs, sounding annoyed. Your ride's here!  
  
Summer stuffed the dresses into a bag and hurried down the stairs, easily avoiding the open bottle of alcohol on the landing. She was always tripping over stuff Cori's friends left lying around. She hated the smell of alcohol in the carpet.  
  
Cori had already returned to the living room, where she and a bunch of her friends were sitting amongst a cloud of cloying smoke, listening to music. Summer had learned long ago that she was not allowed in there. Not that she wanted to be a part of their dazed laughter. But it would be nice if, once in awhile, Cori would ditch her dumb friends and spend time with Summer like she used to.  
  
Then again, she didn't like Cori now, so it didn't matter. Plus, the sight of Holly's mom's car outside, waiting to whisk her away to a friend's house for the weekend, never failed to lift her spirits. She hated the idea of spending one more night with Cori's friends taking over her home, filling the rooms with smoke and alcohol and loud voices. Sometimes people passed out in the bathroom. The occasional weekends home were unbearable.  
  
Summer slammed the front door shut without saying goodbye. It wasn't like anyone would even notice if she was gone.  
  


*  


  


You have to hold your head still, Summer insisted, holding onto Emily's with both hands. Otherwise it's gonna get all messed up.  
  
Emily settled back between Summer's legs and Summer returned to the half finished french-braid. Emily's dark hair had a mind of its own, always wanting to jump free from braids and ponytails.  
  
Oh my God, he's so _cute_! Ashley pretended to swoon onto the pillow beside her, fanning at her face.  
  
The girls were spread out in Emily's fully furnished basement, halfway through watching The five sleeping bags lay in a line in front of the couch, with pillows, teen magazines, and beauty supplies flung everywhere. A half-empty bowl of popcorn was being passed around. It was a small group that evening, just two guests. Ashley had been coming regularly for a few months, but this was Marissa's first time.  
  
Summer didn't know Marissa very well. She had always been really quiet. In fact, she'd probably never have been invited, except her social status had changed since Luke Ward had kissed her on the bus two weeks ago. Holly and Emily had invited her because the kiss was the big gossip of the fifth grade and they wanted to hear all about it.  
  
It was funny, Summer thought. Marissa Cooper didn't exactly look like someone Luke would like. She was tiny and shy and tended to blend into the background, her straight brown hair always pulled back in a ponytail. The only thing remarkable about her was her huge blue eyes, long-lashed and innocent. She'd been sitting silently on the floor all night, knees hugged to her chest.  
  
Have you ever kissed Luke like that? Holly asked, pointing to Jack and Rose as they kissed passionately. Marissa smiled shyly and shook her head, clearly embarrassed. Summer decided that she liked Marissa. Most other girls probably would have lied, just to sound like they knew more than everyone else.  
  
I would die if Leo kissed me like that, Ashley said emphatically. Kate Winslet is _so_ lucky.  
  
Emily instructed. This is it.  
  
All the girls fell silent as Jack and Rose kissed inside the car, each wishing and pretending that she was Kate Winslet. The music swelled as Rose's sweaty hand pressed against the car window, then there was an appreciative sigh as the camera cut inside, to naked, sweaty Leo.  
  
Why does she do that? Holly asked, once the scene was over. With her hand?  
  
It's an orgasm, Summer said automatically. The word brought to mind faint thumps against the walls, audible moans and screams from the other bedrooms. Unsettling noises that woke her in the middle of the night. It wasn't a nice word.  
  
What's that? Ashley wondered, sounding curious.  
  
Summer shrugged, snapping a hair band around Emily's braid. It's when the woman feels good during sex. Holly still looked confused. Sometimes she'll scream, or yell at the guy.  
  
Emily turned around. Why would she yell at the guy if it feels good?  
  
I don't know.  
  
What does she yell? Holly asked, looking fascinated.  
  
Summer tried to push from her mind a shuffle of images: women panting, bodies twined together on beds, squeals of or Don't stop! A lot of Cori's friends took full advantage of the spare bedrooms in the house, and some of them were bad at closing doors. The idea of repeating the things she heard them say made Summer feel dirty. Besides, she knew that any answer she gave would only provoke a dozen other questions that she didn't feel like answering. As much as the other girls pretended to be mature, she knew their grasp of how sex worked was still pretty hazy.  
  
She wished she could say the same for herself.  
  
Instead, she ignored the question, sitting back and crossing her arms. Let's just watch the movie.  
  
But the others wouldn't let the subject go. Do you think Ms. Diaz has sex? Emily asked. This was met with wild giggles all around.  
  
Summer said matter-of-factly. All grown-ups do it.  
  
Ashley made a face. But she's, like, a teacher!  
  
So what? Summer reached for a handful of popcorn. She's really pretty. She probably has sex a lot.  
  
She wouldn't scream though, Emily said with authority. She's always telling us to use indoor voices. More giggles followed this remark.  
  
Summer shrugged again and let the subject drop. Emily had no idea what she was talking about, but Summer was completely sick of being the authority on such things. Conversely, she was also annoyed by the others' perpetual naiveté.   
  
At least Marissa hadn't asked any questions. She'd lowered her nose to her knees, her eyes fixed on the television screen in a way that suggested she wasn't really watching. Summer felt a sympathetic pang as she studied Marissa's bony shoulder blades, hunched as if to protect herself from the conversation. She was too sweet for this group, Summer decided, too innocent for their complex games.  
  
Summer said softly. Marissa whipped around, startled. You want me to braid your hair? A slow smile lit up Marissa's face and she scooted over on her hands to sit in front of Summer.  
  
Two braids or one? Summer asked, undoing Marissa's ponytail.   
  
Marissa said softly, shifting so she was sitting cross-legged. Summer nodded and drew a part down the back of Marissa's head with her thumbs. Marissa's hair was very fine, almost like a baby's, soft and amazingly easy to braid. Summer could smell her shampoo, a familiar nostalgic scent she remembered from baths under Zoë's supervision: Johnson & Johnson's Baby Shampoo, No More Tears. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe in the scent of lost childhood.  
  
Unlike Emily and Holly, Marissa sat perfectly still while Summer worked, her back ramrod straight. Summer felt another wave of warmth for her, an urge to protect this fragile girl from anything mean or ugly. The world was a cruel place. Summer knew she could take it, she'd been doing fine for years, but she also sensed that Marissa wasn't cut out to be resilient.  
  
A loud, melodramatic sob from Holly startled Summer from her reverie. She focused on the TV in time to see Kate Winslet pry Leo's icy fingers from the wood, letting him sink beneath the waves. The whole scene had always struck Summer as stupid; the wood Rose was on was more than big enough for the two of them. Plus, Leo looked kind of like an alien, all blue and shivering and stiff. Death made his forehead look really large. But she kept that thought to herself. It would not be appreciated.  
  
She had to marvel at the difference between the ocean of Leo's early demise and the friendly, inviting pictures of the book in the library. These icy blue Atlantic waters, cold and harsh and foreboding, didn't attract her the same way the warm gentle ripples of the Pacific did. She knew that the divisions between bodies of water were mostly imaginary, that they all touched and intermingled, but in her mind they were different worlds.  
  
The music swelled, violins sweeping over the final scenes. Ashley flopped over the pillows and whispered in Emily's ear, sneaking an obvious glance at Marissa. Emily laughed, eyes narrowed, head thrown back with the haughty grace of a queen. Marissa didn't look in their direction, but her shoulders tensed slightly. Summer tried to catch Emily's eye, to glare and stop her, but Emily was whispering in Holly's ear, eyes sparkling.  
  
Summer loved Holly and Emily, she really did. They were her best friends, and they did everything together, but she still remembered how it felt to be on the receiving end of those whispers. Marissa turned around, her large eyes hurt and worried, and Summer tried to smile in a way that conveyed warmth and friendship. Marissa managed a half smile in return. The other girls giggled again and her smile faded; she drew her knees up to her chin again. Summer nudged Emily with her foot, hard, but Emily glared back, daring her to say anything.  
  
When Emily looked at her like that, it was like she was reminding Summer that she wasn't equal to them. She was there because she brought bribes like dress-up clothes, because she could explain sex to them. Because they liked having a third person to admire them and pick sides when they fought. If they lost interest in her, she would be cut loose into the social maelstrom of the fifth grade.  
  
Summer knew better than to pick a fight with Emily.  
  
She drew her feet up under her on the couch, sinking back into the soft cushions. The image of the Titanic's lonely skeleton sitting on the bottom of the sea lingered on the screen, immersed in cold blue water and haunting silence.   
  
Sometimes the calculating atmosphere among her friends was too similar to the icy ocean for Summer's comfort.  
  


*  


  


  
_Whew, that one took me awhile. So much is going on in the fifth grade! (Sorry about the Seth abuse. There's always one hygienically-challenged kid, isn't there?)  
  
Thanks for being patient while waiting for this chapter. I'm hoping to get the next chapter — starting 6th grade, ooh! — up before the end of this hellish hiatus. In the meantime, I'd love it if you took a minute or two to let me know what you thought, what pieces stood out or lines you liked._


	6. Ice

**Rating**: heavy PG-13 for language and sexual innuendo.  
**Feedback**: _Greatly appreciated._ I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.  
**Author's Notes**: The title and poetry are from the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot. I hope they add to each chapter. For those who've pointed out that Summer doesn't know who Seth is and that he's never spoken to her: I've always assumed that Seth meant he hadn't spoken to her in years and she was not paying close enough attention to identify him easily. Clearly, if he knew her since elementary school and was in her sixth grade class to hear her poem, they've grown up together. His next door neighbor is her best friend. And he's well know enough to have a reputation as Ew! Seth Cohen! I'm sure they've exchanged words, at least in childhood.  


  
*  
  
**Chapter 6: Ice  
_  
_**_Do I dare   
Disturb the universe?   
In a minute there is time   
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse._**  
  
*****  
**

  


Monday, December 28, 1998:  
  
I've never been so disappointed in my entire life! Mrs. Horn's shrill voice was audible through the study door. In contrast, Emily's tearful reply was indecipherable.  
  
Summer slumped against her straight-backed chair, tilting her head back to look at the cathedral ceiling of the Horn's front hall. The room was ice cold; the Horns always kept the air conditioning up too high, even in winter. A chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, its hundreds of crystals catching the sunlight from the large arched windows and throwing sparkles onto the gleaming hardwood floors. The shifting lights blurred in Summer's vision and she swiped angrily at her eyes, determined not to cry. That would be the ultimate humiliation, as if this weren't bad enough.  
  
The voices had dropped and she could no longer hear what was being said; she glanced anxiously at the study door. They'd been in there for over half an hour. She been instructed not to move, but would they even notice if she snuck over to the door to listen? Maybe she could peer through the keyhole and see if Emily was okay. She remembered how Fritz and Clara had taken turns looking through a door at the beginning of The Nutcracker; the sixth grade had gone to see it last week.  
  
She and Emily had wanted to be ballerinas after seeing the show. It had replaced their current passion of being professional figure skaters, after a shared birthday party at the ice rink. They'd both begged for dance lessons together and been rewarded on Christmas morning with matching pink leotards and promises of lessons at the Huntington Academy of Dance. Summer had spent the rest of the day practicing her _pliés_ and _tendu_, her hair pulled into a tidy bun. She wanted to be the best in the class when they started.  
  
It was hard to believe that was just three days ago. Summer closed her eyes and wished desperately that the last four hours had never happened, that she'd never agreed to go shopping for ballet accessories with Emily today. Who could have predicted that a fun mall trip with her best friend could go so terribly wrong?  
  
It had all been so simple at the time. They'd both been given gift certificates to Claire's Accessories, with the idea being that they could select new hair ribbons and ballet bags before their dance classes started the following week. Christmas presents that they got to choose themselves were their favorite. Mrs. Horn had left them at the store, promising that she'd be back in half in hour to take them to lunch at the California Pizza kitchen. It was their favorite restaurant, and they ate there every time they went to the mall.  
  
Summer and Emily had a lot of the same favorites, now that they were best friends.   
  
It had happened at the beginning of last summer, after a terrible fight between Emily and Holly. They were always fighting, but this time they hadn't made-up up before Holly had left for summer camp. By September, when Holly had returned just in time for school to start, Summer and Emily had been inseparable. They even had one of those necklaces, the kind where each person wore half of a heart that said _Best Friends_.  
  
They loved the fact that they looked a lot alike, with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and round faces. Emily was a little bit taller, but they were close enough in size that they could share clothes. They called themselves sisters, and sometimes teachers mistook one for the other. Now, most people referred to them as one person. Summeranemily. Are Summeranemily coming to the party? Wait until you hear what Summeranemily said during class!  
  
Summer actually felt a little sorry for Holly, but she had started spending time with Marissa and now they were really close instead. And it wasn't like all the girls didn't still do stuff together, it was just that Summer and Emily sometimes did a lot of stuff alone as well. Summer loved the security of having a real best friend. Someone who would always be her partner in gym and defend her if necessary, someone who knew all her secrets.   
  
Emily was the only person who knew about Cori. Everyone else just thought Daddy's girlfriend had moved out. No one else knew about the night Daddy had found Cori's syringes, how he'd ordered her to leave, how Cori had cried and pleaded and then — when Daddy hadn't relented — had broken things. Dishes and vases and the spun-glass animals over the fireplace that Summer loved. The pieces of glass had looked like glittering splinters of ice.  
  
Daddy had called the police.   
  
Summer had worn shoes inside for a week so she didn't cut her feet on any leftover shards.  
  
Emily had been the first person she'd called, and she'd spent most of the month of June at Emily's house while the decorators Daddy had hired refurnished the house. Emily had helped Summer decide to paint her walls light pink, had helped her pick out her new grown-up bed with the white canopy. Emily had reassured her that she didn't need her babyish fish mural anymore. By the end, Summer's room had looked a lot like Emily's, except pink instead of light green. But that was good, because Emily had good taste.  
  
Summer trusted Emily infinitely when it came to style and fashion, and she loved it when they picked out the same things. It was like a sign that they were made to be best friends. Which was why, that afternoon, Summer had followed Emily's example in picking out new purses, butterfly rhinestone bobby pins, and glittery make-up. Summer had thought that they should buy nail polish instead of the body glitter, but she always listened to Emily.  
  
Which was why, a few minutes later, she had listened when Emily had suggested they sneak the extra stuff out in their bags instead of paying for it.  
  
And that's the end of it! Mr. Horn boomed, making Summer jump. Go to your room!  
  
The office door swung open and Emily came racing out, tears streaming down her face. She dodged past Summer without looking at her and hurried up the staircase. Summer could hear her door slam upstairs. Mrs. Horn followed more slowly, her expression hardening when she saw Summer. Smoothing a hand over her dark hair, she walked towards her.  
  
I've called your father. Her voice was icy. I'll let him discuss this with you himself. She nodded to the stairs. You can wait with Emily.  
  
Summer didn't hesitate, fleeing from the downstairs hall without looking back. She found Emily face down on her bed, sobbing uncontrollably. Summer asked tentatively. She climbed onto the sage-green comforter beside her friend. You okay? Emily shook her head against the pillow. Summer smoothed her hair. It's gonna be okay.  
  
Emily sat up so fast that she half-knocked Summer backwards. Her eyes were red and puffy as she spat out, Linden Hall!  
  
Summer stared at her best friend, confused.  
  
Linden Hall, Summer! Emily's chin trembled. It's the boarding school in Pennsylvania that my mom went to! I start in a month! Her face crumpled and she pressed her hands against her eyes. I don't want to go to away!  
  
Are you sure?  
  
A few tears dripped off Emily's chin. They said they'd been discussing it for awhile, and this was the last straw. She sniffed, concluding softly. We're so stupid.  
  
Summer didn't bother to agree, even though it was true. She hadn't felt right about stealing the items, but Emily could be so persuasive. Wouldn't it be cool, she'd wheedled, if they got these things now and still had money left to spend later? Summer wasn't _scared_, was she? Summer'd been stung by the implication of cowardice, and when Emily had explained that no one would notice because it was right after Christmas and _everyone_ was returning things, Summer had agreed to do it.  
  
She should have known better than to trust Emily. After all, it had been Emily who'd predicted that Luke would dump Marissa before the end of fifth grade. Emily who had said that Celeste wouldn't last longer than a month. That had been back in June, when Daddy and Celeste first started dating.   
  
The wedding had been in August.  
  
Celeste had been an assistant to the interior decorator Daddy had hired to redo the house. She was young and pretty and blond. At first glance, her arrival had been like a bright ray of sunshine coming into the Roberts' household. The walls had been stripped of dark wallpaper and repainted different shades of white, the carpeting on the stairs had been torn up and the honey-colored wood refinished. And Daddy had remembered how to smile.  
  
Summer hadn't been sure what to make of Celeste. She'd spent so long mistrusting and dismissing Daddy's girlfriends, but Celeste had seemed practically perfect. Her demure lemonade-pink dresses and quiet dinner parties had been a welcome change after the chaos and decadence of Cori. The first time they'd been introduced she'd complimented Summer on being very mature, not or And her sweet smile, holding Daddy's hand as they'd told Summer of their engagement, had certainly _seemed_ genuine.  
  
Summer had been so excited: she was finally going to have a real family. A real mother to help chaperone field trips and drop her off at school. No more making excuses for why she couldn't have friends over, unable to explain that Cori was drunk at three o'clock on a Friday afternoon. She and Emily had spent all of July pouring through bridal magazines, discussing dresses and flower arrangements.  
  
And when it came time for the actual fittings, Celeste had insisted that they make a day of it. Summer'd spent the morning being pinned into a silvery blue bridesmaid dress, and the afternoon eating lunch with Celeste in a fancy restaurant, feeling very grown-up. Celeste had taken her hand and told her how _excited _she was to be marrying Daddy, how _sure_ she was that she and Summer would get along famously, how _much_ it meant to her to be a role model for Summer.  
  
The euphoria of that devoted attention had lasted exactly four hours.   
  
Summer hadn't meant to overhear the phone call. She had just been walking to the bathroom, past Daddy's office, and had overheard Celeste saying, Of _course_ he agreed. I told you, I've got him wrapped around my finger. She'd laughed gaily. I made him promise: three weeks in Greece...No, of course _she's_ not coming! I told him from the start, I never signed on to mother some other woman's child!  
  
Summer hadn't even told Emily about the conversation. It had been too embarrassing, after all her gushing about Celeste and the wedding, to admit that Celeste saw her as nothing more than an unwelcome annoyance.  
  
The problem was the Celeste had wanted to marry a wealthy, single, _unattached_ man. Two out of three wasn't bad, but it hadn't been good enough for her. And since she couldn't erase Daddy's past, she had decided that the next best thing was to ignore Summer all together. She seemed to think that if she and Daddy socialized with enough other young couples, if she kept the house looking as if only adults lived there, if she made it a point to constantly mention how much she and Bruce wanted to have a baby, then no one would notice the sulky eleven-year-old slipping past the dining room.  
  
Summer wouldn't have cared — Celeste's behavior wasn't any different from the previous girlfriends — but Daddy seemed to be going along with it. She saw him occasionally on weekends, usually just as Celeste was whisking him out the front door to some fancy black-tie affair. He usually looked startled to see her, as if surprised to discover she was still living in his house.  
  
Now she sat with one of Emily's pillows hugged to her chest, wondering what Daddy would say when he came to pick her up. One time, when she was eight, she'd purposely broken two wineglasses in the dining room while Daddy had a girlfriend over. He'd been furious, certainly, but the main thing that had stuck with Summer was the image of him sitting her down for a lecture and leaving his girlfriend alone in the living room. The discovery of this power, this ability to command Daddy's attention and time and steal him back, had remained with Summer ever since.  
  
Somehow, the memory of that power made the idea of Daddy's impending anger more bearable.  
  
Mrs. Horn shouted up the stairs. It's time for Summer to go home!  
  
Summer gave Emily a swift hug, wishing she could say more. She wanted to somehow convey that she was sorry this whole day had happened, that she was sorry she had to leave, and that she'd try to help Emily come up with a plan as soon as possible. But all she could manage was, I gotta go. I'll call you later. Emily nodded, her eyes closed, and flopped backwards onto her bed.  
  
Summer hurried down the stairs, her jacket in one hand, then froze as she reached the bottom. Celeste, not Daddy, was standing next to Mrs. Horn; Summer hugged her jacket tighter to her chest. Celeste managed an apologetic expression and concluded, I'm very sorry, Laura. You can be sure Bruce and I will be dealing with this. Come on, Summer. Her french-manicured nails were practically digging into Summer's shoulder as she steered her out the door. Summer climbed into the car and buckled her seat belt, trying hard to resist the urge to run away from Celeste and her pristine silver BMW.  
  
I can't be_lieve_ you, Celeste said icily as she pulled out of the driveway. Summer turned her face to the window and didn't respond. Celeste demanded, after a minute. Don't you have anything to say for yourself?!  
  
Where's Daddy? Summer asked stonily, arms crossed over her chest.  
  
He's still at work.  
  
I wanna talk to _him_.  
  
Too bad. Celeste kept her eyes on the road. You're stuck with me.  
  
I'll say, Summer muttered sarcastically.  
  
Celeste swerved so suddenly that Summer grabbed hold of the armrests to steady herself. The car rode halfway up onto the grass and another driver behind them honked angrily. Celeste took a deep, cleansing breath and turned to Summer, letting go of the steering wheel.  
  
Listen, young lady, she hissed, her gaze so intense that Summer had to look away. I have had it up to _here_ with your attention-getting, selfish, immature antics! Is it so hard for you to _not_ be the center of attention for five _fucking_ minutes?!  
  
Summer had never seen Celeste lose her temper before, but she was too angry to be afraid. It was an opening for all the injustice she'd never been able to put into words before. Maybe if you didn't always act like I don't even exist! she hollered back, leaning forward against her seat belt. Maybe if you weren't trying to steal Daddy away from me!  
  
Oh, is _that_ what this is about? Celeste sat back, a small smile crossing her face. She shook her head in patronizing disbelief. I always knew you were a spoiled little brat, but I never _dreamed_ you'd go this far!  
  
Summer eyed her suspiciously. What do you mean?  
  
Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean. This whole shoplifting idea; it was all some stupid plan of yours to get attention from your _Daddy_. Celeste said the word like it left a nasty taste in her mouth.  
  
But it wasn't even my idea!  
  
Summer, please. I was hardly born yesterday. Celeste's tone was enough to make Summer want to hit her. Mrs. Horn already told me the whole story. You shouldn't have convinced Emily to steal stuff with you.  
  
I didn't! Summer's anger changed to horror. It was—  
  
Oh, stop lying. Emily told her parents that she tried to tell you it was a bad idea, but you kept calling her a coward until she did it. The Horns have made it very clear that you are not to see their daughter anymore. Celeste tilted her head, eyeing Summer appraisingly. Apparently you're a bad influence.  
  
It was though someone had hit Summer in the sternum, knocking the wind clear out of her. Emily had told her parents that the stealing had been Summer's idea? She opened her mouth to reply, to defend herself, to say something, but no words came out. Even if she could have managed a coherent defense, the faint cold glitter of triumph in Celeste's blue eyes was enough to tell her it would be pointless.  
  
I hope you realize now how stupid that was, Celeste said icily. Now your father's furious. He's always given you everything you ever wanted, and this is how you repay him?   
  
Emily's fate suddenly loomed large in Summer's imagination. She knew that Celeste would love nothing more than to send her away, vanished into the depths of some boarding school dormitory. And now she had the perfect excuse to do so. Are — Summer's voice cracked on the word, and she tried again. Are you gonna get rid of me?  
  
Don't be silly, Celeste said calmly, putting the car back into drive. People will notice if both you and Emily transfer midyear. We'll just hold our heads up high and all this will blow over. She glanced at Summer's miserable profile and sighed heavily. Look, I'm sorry I yelled at you, sweetheart. But you have to understand, when your daddy asked me to marry him, he told me he wanted someone who'd help him with you, someone who'd make sure you grew up properly. And I've been trying so hard, but sometimes you just make it so difficult!  
  
That was a lie, Summer wanted to shout. Maybe Daddy had said that, and Celeste had agreed, but she certainly wasn't trying hard at all. She just wanted to smooth everything over, make everything nice; arguments were too messy for Celeste.  
  
The car turned a corner and the sinking winter sun nearly blinded them. Celeste made an irritated noise and reached for her sunglasses. The stylish black lenses obscured her eyes completely. Her tone was cool and smooth now, completely composed. You know, I'm a very patient woman, but that isn't going to last forever. If you keep pulling stunts like this, your father and I might have to consider other living arrangements. Perhaps with your mother? Doesn't she live in New York?  
  
It was then that Summer started to cry. She'd been fighting it for several hours, willing her chin not to tremble and her voice not to break — she'd never cried in front of one of Daddy's girlfriends before — but this was too much. Mommy hadn't contacted her in over two years. Maybe Celeste didn't know that, but then again, she had been the one to remove all traces of Mommy from the house. All the old photo albums, abandoned books and clothing, half-empty bottles of perfume — all gone. Summer was starting to forget what Mommy looked like all together.  
  
And now Celeste was looking at her pityingly and it was just all too much for Summer to bear. Mommy was gone forever, Emily had framed her for their shared crime and now she was leaving too. And Daddy didn't even want to deal with her anymore. Summer pressed her knuckles to her mouth, trying to stifle the embarrassing sobs, and stared out the windows. They drove on in silence, while the cool air from the air conditioner turned the tear tracks on her cheeks to ice.  
  


*


	7. Waves

**Rating**: heavy PG-13 for language and sexual innuendo.  
**Feedback**: _Greatly appreciated._ I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.  
**Author's Notes**: The title and poetry are from the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot. My Julie Cooper is based off the one described by Luke pretty recently. I imagine she was better at being a cool mom for younger kids than a strict mom for older, dysfunctional ones.  


  
*  
  
**Chapter 7: Waves**  
  
_Would it have been worth while,   
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,   
To have squeezed the universe into a ball   
To roll it toward some overwhelming question_  
  
*  


Wednesday, June 21, 2000:  
  
You two have been awfully giggly. Marissa's mom peered into the rearview mirror, her eyes twinkling. Am I missing out on some gossip? She eased the family car into the driveway.  
  
Marissa wailed in dramatic frustration. The car had barely stopped when she grabbed Summer's hand and pulled her out into the sunshine. Come on!   
  
What about the beach?! her mom called after her. Didn't you want to go celebrate? You know, get some sun? Splash in the waves?  
  
We changed our mind! Marissa called back. We'll be upstairs, _Mother_. She led Summer inside and up the stairs. I'm _really_ sorry. She's so annoying sometimes! She shoved open the door to her room.  
  
Summer kind of liked the idea of splashing in the ocean waves — it was a gorgeous day, after all — but she smiled and shrugged. It's okay. Marissa was the best friend she'd ever had, but it was still safer not to disagree, not to make waves.  
  
The truth was, Summer really liked Marissa's mom. She was young and gorgeous and insisted that Summer call her Julie instead of Mrs. Cooper. She always let the girls listen to their favorite music in the car: Macy Gray, Enrique Iglesias, Destiny's Child. She even knew the words and joined them when they sang along.  
  
In fact, Summer loved Marissa's whole family. Her father, always puttering around on weekend mornings after Summer slept over, wearing plaid shirts and doing fix-it projects around the house. Her adorable golden retriever puppy, Dustin, ready to pay tug-of-war with his harmless baby teeth.   
  
And her little sister, Kaitlin. More than anything else in the world Summer wanted a little sister. She envied Marissa desperately, wishing for her own sweet-faced little playmate. Kaitlin with her wispy soft brown hair, pulled back in uneven pigtails, teeth missing from her smile when she asked if she could play too.  
  
Kaitlin who still looked as if she believed in magic.  
  
Summer wanted desperately to play with her, to savor any small encounter of wide-eyed optimism, but Marissa always said no. Kaitlin was only six and _way_ too immature, she would insist, forcibly shoving the little girl out the door to her room. This was usually followed by tears and fighting until Julie came upstairs to retrieve Kaitlin.   
  
Today, however, they made it upstairs alone. Marissa ushered Summer into her room and slammed the door, locking it behind her, she said excitedly, climbing up onto the bed, tell me everything.  
  
Summer couldn't fight the giant smile that crossed her face. I already told you everything!  
  
Tell me again! Come on! Marissa patted the bed. Summer crossed the room and perched beside her, wishing she could have a moment of quiet to relive the memory.  
  
Today had been the last day of school, the last day of air-conditioned classrooms and sharp-eyed teachers before two and a half months of sun-soaked freedom. Summer and Marissa had been waiting out in the courtyard with a group of their friends when Summer had felt someone tap her on the shoulder. She'd turned to find Greg Bliss standing right behind her, asking if he could talk to her for a second. He'd never looked more handsome: his shirt already untucked, short blond hair slightly tousled, his freckles already fading into a summer tan.  
  
She'd followed him around the side of the school, the side that overlooked the deserted athletic fields, not the parking lot side. It had been shady there, cool and darker, and she'd had to blink a few times to adjust to the lack of bright sunlight. What had he wanted to talk to her about? she'd asked innocently. He'd ducked his head and muttered something she'd been unable to hear; she'd asked him to repeat it. And then he'd looked her straight in the eyes — his were so blue! — told her that he liked her, and kissed her on the lips! It had only lasted a second, but Summer could remember every detail: the heat of the stucco building against her back, his hand holding on tight to her shoulder, the soft damp pressure of his mouth.  
  
So, are you guys going out? Marissa was asking her.  
  
Summer shrugged, trying to be casual. I dunno. If he wants, I guess. She hoped desperately that he wanted to.  
  
I want more details! Marissa bounced a little on the bed. Was it nice? Did he touch you? Was he better or worse than the others? Was there tongue?  
  
Summer bit back a disgusted She knew all about french-kissing, but the idea still grossed her out a little. Or a lot. And the truth was, she'd never kissed anyone before. Ever. Sure, she'd held hands once or twice with Jim Johnson when they'd said they were going out in the sixth grade, and she'd slow-danced three whole songs with Ben Hill at the spring dance this year. And she'd always known more about sex and kissing than any of her friends. But she'd never actually done any of it. She hadn't even claimed that she had, she'd just never been specific about where her knowledge came from.  
  
Apparently Marissa had made some incorrect assumptions, but Summer wasn't about to correct her. She shrugged again. It was really nice. He put his hand on my arm and stuff. She giggled, returning to her giddy mood. He's got really soft hands.  
  
Marissa sighed dreamily and stretched out on her stomach, chin propped in her hands. That's so awesome, Sum. I'm so happy for you. She looked up with a big smile. Hey! Now we can double-date!  
  
As impossible as it sometimes seemed, Marissa and Luke were still together. They'd become an official couple at the start of sixth grade, when it suddenly became cool to be dating, and had been together ever since. Except for two weeks in January of that year. It had been during those two weeks, when Marissa often left class to cry in the bathroom, that she and Summer had grown closer. Emily had just left for Pennsylvania and it had been the perfect time for friendship to bloom, a friendship Summer could not have been more thankful for.  
  
She slid further onto Marissa's bed and pulled a framed photo off Marissa's bed stand. It was a snapshot of her and Luke at the beach. Luke was making a face and Marissa had her eyes closed, but they were both laughing. Summer tried to imagine taking a picture like that with Greg, to imagine ever being _comfortable _enough with him to take a picture like that.  
  
She set the picture down. How long did you feel shy with Luke? You know, after he kissed you?  
  
A perplexed look crossed Marissa's face as she pondered the question. I don't know. A week maybe? She grinned and rolled over onto her back. But I was really quiet back then. That shouldn't be a problem for _you_, Sum.  
  
That was true. Summer was still way more outgoing than Marissa, even though they were both popular now. Her teachers were always scolding her for talking during class, but gossip was so much more interesting than schoolwork. But then why couldn't she think of a single thing to say around Greg? She couldn't imagine ever talking to him. He was so perfect and smart; she was sure that as soon as she said anything he'd think she was stupid.  
  
She put down the photo and picked up the other, larger frame still standing on Marissa's bedside table. It was a portrait of the Cooper family from about three years ago, taken in a professional studio. The whole family was wearing blue. Julie was seated in a fancy armchair, Kaitlin perched in her lap. Marissa, wearing a periwinkle sun dress, was standing at her mother's right shoulder, right beside her father. They all looked happy and beautiful: the perfect family.  
  
Summer tried to ignore the dull ache in her stomach. I have to go to the bathroom, she announced, setting the photo down with a clunk. Marissa nodded absently; she was flipping through the latest issue of Seventeen. Summer shut the door firmly and hurried to the bathroom down the hall.  
  
After a quick, automatic examination of her face in the mirror — not a hair out of place, nothing for Celeste to correct later — she quickly pulled down her shorts and sat on the toilet. She was fond of the bathroom Marissa and Kaitlin shared. It had been decorated with a cheerful sunflower theme; Julie had even found tiny glycerin sunflower-shaped soaps for the sunflower soap dish. It was feminine but not cutesy, just like Marissa's garden-themed room. Summer was already sick of her frilly powder-pink decor at home.  
  
She finished and reached for the toilet paper, but recoiled when the white paper came away streaked in red. Concerned, she reexamined her underwear: the blood was there too. Remembering the yearly health lessons when the boys squirmed and the girls blushed, she tried to calm her rapid heartbeat. It was just her period. She was just getting her period. That was all. It happened to all girls when they grew up.  
  
But she couldn't remember what she was supposed to do. And she certainly wasn't going to ask Marissa. Finally, she settled on stuffing a whole fistful of toilet-paper into her underwear. It felt weird and bulky when she rebuttoned her shorts, but a quick examination in the mirror confirmed that the bizarre padding wasn't visible. Still, she made sure to walk carefully back to Marissa's room.  
  
For a short time she was able to distract herself while taking quizzes in the magazine with Marissa and examining the gossip about a new male movie star, who might have been dating his costar. Summer could feel her excellent mood returning. She had a whole summer ahead of her, whole days of splashing in the ocean waves, whole lazy afternoons chatting with Marissa, whole evenings of going to air-conditioned movie theaters. Maybe on a double date with Greg and Luke.  
  
Eventually, however, she became aware that the ache in her stomach wasn't going away. In fact, it was getting worse. This wasn't any typical pangs of jealousy. She felt a painful twinge that made her draw her knees into her stomach, as well as a wave of nausea.  
  
Apparently she wasn't doing a very good job of concealing how she felt. Are you okay?  
  
Summer crossed her arms over her stomach. I don't know. I'm not sure. I feel kind of sick.  
  
Let me get my mom. Marissa patted her shoulder tentatively, then ran to the doorway. Mom! Can you come up here for a second?!  
  
Julie was upstairs in a hurry, her face concerned as she helped Summer to the bathroom. What's wrong, sweetie? she asked gently. Summer sank onto the edge of the bathtub and Julie perched beside her. Are you gonna throw up?  
  
Summer shook her head. She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell Julie the truth. It was too embarrassing. Julie seemed to sense her discomfort. She shot a glance at Marissa, still leaning against the door frame, then indicated that Marissa should give them a moment. The door closed, and Julie turned back to Summer, who swallowed her embarrassment. I just got my period, she admitted softly.  
  
Oh, is that all? Julie gave her a one-armed hug. Congratulations, sweetie! She looked Summer in the eyes. You know that this is completely natural, and that there's nothing to be worried about, right?  
  
Summer felt calmer already. They told us about it in school.  
  
Okay, good. Julie jumped up and began hunting through the medicine cabinet. Where did I leave them...let's see — ah, here they are. She turned with a bright blue and yellow package in her hands. I've been saving these for Marissa, but since you've beat her to it, I'm sure she won't mind if you take them.  
  
Summer studied Julie in surprise. Marissa didn't have her period yet? It was amazing to think that she'd actually beaten Marissa at something, maturity-wise. After all, Marissa had been the first to get taller, the first to get a boyfriend, the first to need a bra. Summer had waited in vain for any of these things to happen to her, but she had remained tiny, boyfriend-less, and flat as a board. Not that that stopped her from wearing a bra, but still.   
  
It was nice to know she wasn't a complete failure at growing up. After all, that certainly seemed to be what Celeste was implying every time she cooed over how _grown-up_ Marissa was looking these days! She's still with Luke, right? she would ask casually, her cool blue eyes taking in Marissa's high cheekbones and willowy figure. Such pointed comments would send Summer running to the mirror to reexamine her body, disgusted by everything she saw: chubby cheeks, a tummy that was still round with baby fat, the two barely noticeable bumps on her chest. She looked like a little kid.  
  
Maybe if Celeste heard that Greg Bliss had kissed her, she might take an interest in Summer's life instead of Marissa's.  
  
Okay, while you take care of that, Julie handed the pads to Summer, I'm gonna go find you some Advil, to take care of those cramps.  
  
Julie left the bathroom, shooting one last reassuring smile over her shoulder, and Summer couldn't help but be thankful that this had happened here, at Marissa's, instead of at home. As she removed the toilet paper from her underwear and replaced it with a pad she tried hard to imagine Celeste's reaction to the whole affair. She couldn't even begin to visualize telling Celeste, let alone Celeste offering advice, or even sanitary napkins. Celeste didn't like messy things, blood or any other bodily fluids. Summer always knew whenever Celeste and Daddy had sex, because Celeste always had the maid wash the sheets first thing the next morning.  
  
There was a knock on the door, and Julie reentered. She offered Summer two tablets and a bottle of Aquafina. Summer swallowed the pills quickly, feeling less shaky as she did so. Julie sat down beside Summer on the tub again. Listen. Summer. She sighed, looking a little uncomfortable. You really should hear this from your step-mom, but Marissa's mentioned that you two aren't very close, so... she reached over and smoothed Summer's hair away from her face. Summer, you are becoming a beautiful young woman, and I could not be more proud. She hugged Summer gently, kissed the top of her head, and stood up. You should probably let Marissa know that you're okay.  
  
Summer returned to Marissa's room in a daze. She offered a brief, embarrassed explanation and accepted Marissa's quick hug. Two major things in one day! Marissa exclaimed. Your first period and your first kiss with Greg!  
  
Her first kiss with _any _guy, Summer was tempted to correct, but she couldn't quite bring herself to say it. Instead, she grinned shyly and gave in to Marissa's begging to tell about the kiss yet again. Even as she described it, she could feel her mood returning to its earlier high.  
  
She sat with her legs crossed, allowing Marissa to badger her about calling Greg and asking him out, feeling lighthearted with unfamiliar happiness. Despite this new hurdle of her period, it _had_ been a pretty good day. Perhaps she was growing up a little, after all. Julie seemed to think so. And maybe, since he'd been the one to kiss her, Greg Bliss thought so too. She no longer felt the same ache of envy when she glanced at the photographs by Marissa's bed.   
  
Eventually, she would have to return home to the chill of Celeste's silent appraisal. There was always that shadow beyond the sunlight, tugging at her happiness. But for now she could curl up on Marissa's bed, letting the Cooper's waves of love and warmth wash over her, hoping to absorb what she could.  
  


*  
  


  


_Whew! Seven down, five more to go. Thanks for hanging in there, those of you who've been reading since the beginning.  
  
I realize getting one's period isn't always that painful, but I've had one or two experiences of feeling really really sick when I've had mine, and it fit the story.  
  
I hope you liked this chapter. It's the last upbeat one for...awhile. Summer's not a complete basket case; there have to be moments of happiness to counter the bad ones. I always took Julie Cooper as the type to be selfish when her needs conflicted with her grown daughter's, or unsympathetic when Marissa was being stupid, but fun and loving when things were easy. She'd be good with little kids and early teenagers, I think, but there's already signs of a Julie/Marissa rift.  
  
Anyway, I'm really looking forward to writing Chapter 8, so hopefully it will come quickly. In the meantime, let me know what you think._


	8. Wet

**Rating**: heavy PG-13 for language and sexual innuendo. This chapter's **racy**!  
**Feedback**: _Greatly appreciated._ I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.  
**Author's Notes**: The title and poetry are from the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot. Marissa's ninth grade bout with anorexia was mentioned in The Rescue. We know that Summer goes to the Coopers' for Thanksgiving. I also truly believe, from early episodes, that Jimmy and Julie were mostly pretty happy before Jimmy's financial issues started. Yeah, maybe he was still a teeny bit hung up on Kirsten, but I had the impression he had been happy up until recently.  


  
*  
  
**Chapter 8: Wet**  
  
_Time for you and time for me.   
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,   
And for a hundred visions and revisions _  
  
*  


Thursday, November 22, 2001:  
  
So far, Marissa had only eaten three bites of sweet potato and half of a roll, no butter. Summer was keeping track. This wasn't the first time she'd noticed Marissa's strange eating habits. For months now, Marissa had been claiming not to be hungry at lunch, picking her meals apart and shuffling food around on her plate. Summer knew she was supposed to say something, tell someone about Marissa's problem, but it didn't seem quite real. Stuff like this _never_ happened to Marissa. Marissa's life was perfect.  
  
Marissa, honey, you didn't finish your turkey. Julie leaned across the table. Did it taste all right?   
  
Yeah, it was fine. Marissa shifted and pulled off another tiny piece of her roll.  
  
Are you sure? You didn't eat very—  
  
Mom, just drop it, _okay_?  
  
Summer wet her lips nervously. Everything's delicious, she said quickly. She felt, as a guest at the family Thanksgiving dinner, that she needed to say something positive, to prevent a fight.  
  
I'm glad to hear it, Summer, Julie smiled, then added in an undertone to Marissa's dad, Jimmy. You see? I _told_ you that catering it was a good idea. He nodded off her comment with a smile.  
  
Is it dessert time yet? Caitlin asked. She was eight and whiny now, and Summer was starting to agree with Marissa's assessment of her as a brat.  
  
Not until you've finished your green beans, Julie told her. You don't want to end up fat, do you?  
  
Summer set down her fork, wishing she hadn't had that second helping of turkey and gravy. That was the only drawback to having a figure: now she had to worry about keeping it. A few times she'd considered following Marissa's example of dieting, but no lack of food would ever make her as skinny as Marissa. Besides, she was always too hungry to try.  
  
Jimmy tapped a fork lightly against his wineglass and cleared his throat. I thought we might try a new tradition this year. What do you say we go around the table and say what we're thankful for this year?  
  
That sounds like a lovely idea. Julie shot a warm smile at Jimmy. I'll start. Okay, this year I'm thankful for my lovely family, she took Jimmy and Kaitlin's hands, the warm weather we've had this fall, and the new pumpkin flavored ice cream down by the pier. Kaitlin?  
  
Kaitlin pondered the question. I'm thankful for all my new toys for my birthday, and my pony China, and my Halloween candy, and my new dress for the winter concert, and... She continued to rattle off a long list of possessions before adding as an afterthought, And Mommy and Daddy.  
  
Marissa rolled her eyes. Thanks a lot.  
  
Julie warned.  
  
Okay, fine. Um, I don't know, I'm thankful for my friends, I guess. Marissa shrugged, twirling her glass of water so that it left a wet mark on the tablecloth. And Luke. And school, I guess. I don't know.  
  
Summer felt embarrassed when the whole Cooper family turned their gaze on her, but she managed to say with a smile, I guess I'm thankful for being here this Thanksgiving. And not at home with Celeste, she added silently to herself.  
  
Jimmy asked, resettling his napkin in his lap. Okay then. _I'm _thankful for my beautiful wife, he kissed Julie on the cheek, my two amazing daughters. And, he raised his wineglass in a toast, I'm thankful that we have such a lovely guest like Summer here with us today. He shot Summer a broad smile and lifted his glass a little higher. To a terrific Thanksgiving.  
  
Summer blushed at his compliment and lifted her glass with the others, repeating softly To Thanksgiving.  
  
Julie broke the silence, jumping out of her chair. It's time for dessert, don't you think? Kaitlin, can you give me a hand? She was back a moment later, carrying two pies; Kaitlin followed with a bowl of freshly made whipped cream. Now, we have pecan pie or pumpkin. Who wants what?  
  
I want some of each! Kaitlin insisted, holding out her plate. With lots of whipped cream!  
  
Marissa turned down dessert, so Summer took only a sliver of pecan pie and a tiny dollop of whipped cream. She ate slowly, savoring the taste, and studied Jimmy over the top of her water glass.  
  
In the past year she'd become increasingly fascinated with Jimmy. Growing up with Daddy, who was rarely around and always emotionally distant, she'd only just begun to realize what she was missing. Watching Jimmy with Marissa heightened an ache in her chest that she'd never been aware of before. The door to his office was always open, and unless he was on the phone Marissa always greeted him with a kiss on the top of his head. He'd grin and ask her about her day — he knew all of her teacher's names — and call her things like and Sweat Pea. Marissa always pretended to be embarrassed, rolling her eyes for Summer's benefit, but she clearly adored her father.  
  
In contrast, Summer would lean against the doorway and covet Marissa's dad from a distance. She loved his worn-in plaid shirts, his sock-feet and the way he sometimes slid down the hallway when he was in a hurry. The way he let Kaitlin sit in his lap while he worked, and was never too busy to admire one of her new Barbie dolls, and would hurry to finish up a phone call if Marissa needed to talk to him.  
  
And when he looked at Julie he smiled with his whole face. Julie was always wandering into his office to rub his shoulders, and sometimes Summer had seen him pull Julie into his lap and kiss her right on the mouth. Summer tried to imagine Daddy ever doing that to Celeste, and failed. Daddy's office was off-limits, and Celeste never bothered him while he was working. These days, Daddy was gone more often, and when he was home his smile never reached his eyes. Just last week he'd asked Summer how seventh grade was going, only to have her remind him that she went to Harbor now.  
  
It was a good thing the Coopers didn't mind her hanging around all the time. Daddy worked until all hours of the night, and she tried to avoid being home alone in the house with Celeste as much as possible.   
  
Last year, on a ski trip in Aspen, Celeste had broken her ankle in two places. The doctor had given her painkillers, and her prescription had apparently never run out. Additionally, she'd started seeing a therapist and he gave her a different prescription. Summer knew better than to question it, but she thought it was strange that Celeste used two different pharmacies for her pills. And that she still needed the painkillers, almost a year later. They made her act weird. Summer supposed it was better than when Celeste used to be so tightly wound and freak out about everything, but there was something creepier about her new vague happiness.  
  
It was different than the warm, familial happiness in the Coopers' dining room right now. This, Summer always told herself, was a family that loved each other. It was perfect: mom, dad, two kids. Marissa and Kaitlin argued a lot, and occasionally Marissa would fight with her mom or sulk, but otherwise things were harmonious. Summer had never even seen Jimmy get angry; she didn't think he ever lost his temper, or didn't get along with everyone.  
  
Summer tried not to be scornful of Marissa's sullen inability to say what she was thankful for. But if she was part of the Cooper family, she knew it would have been the easiest question in the world to answer.  
  


*  


  


Do you think this would fit me? Summer asked, holding up one of Marissa's shirts.  
  
I don't know, why don't you try it on?  
  
Summer yanked off her shirt and pulled on Marissa's, admiring the silky green fabric as she did so. Marissa was a lot thinner than she was, so it was tight. But, she decided as she looked at herself sideways in the mirror, it was a good tight. It made her breasts look bigger and her waist smaller. The low neckline revealed more cleavage on her than it did on Marissa.  
  
In the past year and a half Summer had been delighted to have finally filled out. She was still short, but she was all curves now and she loved it. She'd even recovered pretty quickly when Greg had broken up with her at the beginning of high school, because there was a whole flock of boys waiting in line. She'd yet to have another steady boyfriend, but she'd certainly gotten more kissing practice than she'd ever dreamed of a year ago. She'd been surprised to discover that she really liked kissing, even if it was sometimes wet. Even more, she liked the power that came with her new body. She liked the ways guys followed her with their gaze when she flounced past, making sure to swing her hips just enough to grab attention.   
  
How does it look? she asked, turning to Marissa and putting her hands on her hips, jutting out her chest. Marissa's eyebrows lifted in surprise.  
  
Looks good, she replied. You wanna borrow it?  
  
Summer bounced on the balls of her feet, admiring how she jiggled in all of the right places. Maybe I'll wear it around Greg, she suggested with a wicked grin. The dumbass would probably wet himself with excitement, she though smugly.   
  
Marissa lowered the magazine she was reading. Are you _still_ mad at him?   
  
Of course, Summer shrugged and returned to her reflection. She swept her hair back from her face into a high ponytail, declaring in a mock-sultry voice, I'm gonna turn him on, then leave him wanting more. He'll be begging to have me back.  
  
Oh, God. Marissa looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or be exasperated.  
  
I'm serious, Coop, Summer insisted. He dumped me in front of everybody, and I want to make him pay for it. She primped a little in the mirror. I'm gonna play him hot and cold.  
  
Okay, Sum. Marissa returned to her magazine. Have fun.  
  
It's just, I just can't believe he's dating Marcy Ross! Summer knew she was perseverating, but thinking about Greg got her so frustrated. She's such a little trophy wife!  
  
Marissa snorted. And what is _that_ supposed to mean? She flipped another page and arched an eyebrow at Summer.  
  
Come _on_, Coop! You know! Summer climbed onto Marissa's bed and knelt at the end, hands on her knees. Marcy's _totally_ gonna grow up and be one of those stupid bimbos who gets her boobs done so she can marry a rich guy twice her age! She tried to think of an example. Like Miles Crane's mom. Or Celeste!  
  
Celeste hasn't had her boobs done, Marissa pointed out.  
  
Summer conceded. But it's not like she doesn't have access to a surgeon. Besides, she definitely married a rich older guy.  
  
So did my mom, Marissa said. She dropped the magazine and lowered her voice. Did you know she was pregnant with me before they got married?  
  
  
  
Yeah, they think I don't know, but I overheard my mom discussing it with my grandma once. She was only eighteen, and poor, so my dad _had_ to marry her.  
  
Marissa sounded like she was upset to know this information, but this news only made Summer appreciate Jimmy more. What a good man he was, so responsible! He'd done the right thing and now he loved his family now more than anything in the world. It was a pretty romantic story.  
  
It was funny, though. She'd never thought of Celeste and Julie as similar before. But apparently they were kind of alike, although Julie was a lot nicer. Summer had always known, ever since she was old enough to remember, that Daddy liked to date younger women. A lot younger, and really pretty too. She'd just never realized that Jimmy might be the same way.  
  
Marissa's cell phone rang, and she answered it hurriedly. Her face lit up in a way it hadn't all evening. Hey! I was hoping you'd call!...Yeah, a few hours ago. Are you still at your aunt's? Oh. She pulled one knee up to her chest and wrapped her free arm around it. she giggled. Yeah, yeah I am. What are you doing?  
  
Summer rolled her eyes. Luke was just at his aunt's in Palm Springs for the day, but Marissa couldn't even go a few hours without speaking to him. They were so nauseating together. And they could talk about nothing for _ages_. Summer knew enough to expect a long wait, and decided that she might as well get something useful done. Celeste's parents were coming tomorrow, so she needed to shower tonight. She ducked into Marissa's walk-in closet to change into a towel. When she stepped out and signaled what she was doing, Marissa barely looked up.  
  
The door to Marissa and Kaitlin's bathroom was closed, and Summer knocked lightly. I'm in the _bath_! Kaitlin shouted, sounding angry. Go away! Summer resisted the urge to respond rudely and and leaned against the wall, debating whether to wait or return to the Marissa and Luke love-fest. Her gaze fell upon the open door to Julie and Jimmy's bedroom. It was empty, and dark; they were both still downstairs. But she knew they had a separate bathroom. She was sure they wouldn't mind if she used the shower. She really needed to wash her hair. Besides, she was curious to look at their bedroom.  
  
It smelled nice, a soft smell, like the ghost of elegant perfume. The room was clean, the indigo and white sheets pulled smooth and tight across the king-size bed. A few pairs of Julie's high-heels were sitting outside the closet, and one of Jimmy's shirts — newly returned from the cleaners, by the look of it — was hanging off the back of a chair. Summer stepped carefully across the threshold, enjoying the soft warmth of the cream carpeting between her toes. She wandered across the empty floor, trailing a hand along the cherry wood dresser. A few artfully arranged photographs stood off to one side: Marissa and Kaitlin as babies, the same family portrait that Marissa had in her room, Jimmy and Julie at their wedding.   
  
The bathroom was cream and white, clean but not intimidating. Summer locked the door and dropped her towel. The shower head was set to a higher pressure than she was used to, but she liked it. It was almost like getting a massage. Steam rose all around her, filling the shower and spilling into the rest of the bathroom. Something about the rising fog on the glass shower doors reminded Summer of the time she'd caught Daddy and some random girlfriend having sex in the shower. She'd forgotten about it until that moment, but as the hot water dripped off her nose and eyelashes the whole memory came rushing back.  
  
She slid her soapy hands across her body, down each arm, across her chest, wondering absently if Julie and Jimmy ever had sex in this shower.  
  
Clean at last, she switched off the shower and wrung out her hair. It hung well below her shoulders now; she'd have to ask Celeste to get her a hair appointment. She shivered a little as she wrapped her white towel around herself, bracing herself for the even colder air outside. The lights were on in the bedroom; Summer knew she hadn't turned them on. As she stepped out of the bathroom, Jimmy emerged from behind the closet door. He wasn't wearing a shirt.  
  
he said, a grey t-shirt in his hands. I didn't know you were — I mean — I thought you were Julie. He looked embarrassed and glanced down at himself.   
  
It's okay, Summer assured him. She couldn't help but notice the clean line of his collarbone, his well-defined chest and still-flat stomach. He was pretty well built, for a dad. She gave him an big smile, offering by way of explanation, Kaitlin was in the bath.  
  
He didn't seem quite sure what to make of her, standing there in a towel. A very short towel. Almost involuntarily, his gaze dropped to her feet then swept back upwards, over her hands clutching the top of her towel to her face. Summer had never felt so keenly aware of her legs, her breasts, of any of her exposed skin. She knew that boys sometimes watched her in school, or at the beach, but she never felt like they really knew how to appreciate what they were looking at.   
  
The silence may have only lasted a second, but it left her tingling. Had she been hoping for this all along? She wasn't sure, but she knew she didn't want to leave. It felt good just standing there in the half-lit room, having his eyes on her.  
  
Your room is really nice, she said softly, taking a step forward. He didn't back away.  
  
He wasn't moving. His eyes flicked down to her chest again, then quickly to the wall. He shook his head as if to clear it, turned half away and hurriedly pulled the t-shirt over his head. Then he walked away from her, removing his watch and putting it on the bedside table. What are you and Marissa up to tonight?  
  
Summer felt a stab of disappointment at his distraction, his eyes no longer on her. Nothing right now. She's on the phone with Luke.  
  
Right. They're pretty close, huh? He shot her a quick smile, barely looking at her before turning his attention to the closet instead.  
  
I guess. Summer seated herself on the edge of the bed. He darted a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, but didn't stop what he was doing. She slid further onto the bed, crossing her legs in front of her. Personally, _I_ would never date a high school guy. I want someone more...mature.  
  
At that he looked at her again, really looked. And she let him, leaning back on her hands, allowing him to take in the full length of her, sitting in the middle of his bed. She felt heat beneath the surface of his skin, the rush of blood in her ears. It was as if she were teetering on the edge of a steep cliff, not sure if the last step to take her over the edge would let her fly, or fall. She wasn't quite sure what she was doing. But she didn't really want to stop.  
  
You know, she said, keeping her voice low, it really meant a lot to me, what you said at dinner. It made me feel really... _special_. She wet her lips, taking care to move her tongue slowly, to leave her mouth slightly open in a suggestive manner.  
  
A beat. I'm glad. His smile was more tense now. He apparently wasn't sure where to focus his gaze, and so ran a weary hand over his face, exhaling loudly as he walked into the bathroom. Away from her. Summer could hear the sound of rushing water and him brushing his teeth.  
  
She looked down at herself, at her towel. It was just tucked into itself, on the side of her torso. She fingered the edge, thinking about how easy it would be to just pull it loose while he was in the bathroom, to let the towel fall away. Leaving her naked on the bed.  
  
Working up her nerve, she drew her legs up under her, trying to decide on the best positioning for the moment. In doing so, she caught sight of herself in the long mirror over the dresser. She froze at what she saw, pushing one lock of damp hair behind her ear. Gone was the sexy young women she had determined herself to be in Marissa's room; now she looked like a little girl. A wet and wide-eyed little girl. If she did what she was planning to do there would be no turning back. Jimmy would walk out of the bathroom and see her whole body, pale and vulnerable in the soft lighting. It would go beyond any previous daydreams; it would be real, and she had no idea what would happen.  
  
Suddenly, she couldn't get out of the room fast enough.  
  
She scrambled off the bed, holding tight to the top of her towel, flung open the door and hurried down the hallway to Marissa's room. Ducking inside, she wasn't surprised to see Marissa still on the phone and took it as a blessing. It was the work of a minute to slip into the closet and change into her clean pajamas, no questions asked. Marissa was off the phone when she reemerged.  
  
Marissa said brightly. Did you have a good shower?  
  
Yeah, I guess so. Summer suddenly couldn't even summon up the energy for a false smile. Hey, Coop? Do you mind if we just go to bed? I'm really tired.  
  
Marissa's brow furrowed slightly, Sure. Let me just change.  
  
The two girls moved silently about the room in a well practiced routine. Marissa pulled on her pajamas and braided her hair into one long plait, while Summer repacked her suitcase and set her pillow on Marissa's bed. After years of sleep overs, late nights whispering into the wee hours of the morning, they were used to the situation, to the familiar pattern of sharing a bedroom.  
  
Summer was brushing her hair when there was a knock on the door.  
  
Come in! Marissa said, and Jimmy entered. In the bright lighting of Marissa's room, Summer thought he looked like a completely different person than he had in the dim glow of his bedroom. She knew she definitely looked different, safely clad in pink flannel pajamas. Self-consciously, she lifted her hand to fasten the very top button, leaving only her neck exposed.  
  
Hey, kiddo, Jimmy said to Marissa, keeping one hand on the doorknob. You two going to sleep?  
  
Marissa looked at Summer. Yeah, I guess so.  
  
Okay, I'll say goodnight then. Jimmy took a stride forward and kissed Marissa's forehead, his hand lightly cupping the side of her face he did so. Happy Thanksgiving.  
  
You too, Dad. For once, Marissa didn't roll her eyes or pull away. She managed a sweet half-smile before turning back to clear the scattered clothes on top of her bed.  
  
Jimmy glanced at Summer, who realized she'd been standing frozen, hairbrush halfway through her hair. As soon as his eyes met hers she returned to brushing, trying her hardest to look casual. 'Night, Summer, Jimmy said quickly, pulling the door shut behind him as he went. Marissa didn't seem to have noticed his unusually reserved tone, but Summer did. Upset, she threw her brush down onto her suitcase and climbed under the covers on her side of the bed, turning over so her back was to Marissa.  
  
You all set? Marissa asked softly. Summer made an affirmative noise, and was glad when the room fell into darkness. She felt the bed shift a little as Marissa climbed in. Goodnight, Sum.  
  
Summer whispered. She lay still, hoping that Marissa wouldn't want to giggle and talk tonight. She just wasn't in the mood. Luckily, Marissa seemed to have noticed, and it wasn't long before her breathing was soft and steady. She was asleep.  
  
Summer lay awake for ages afterwards, unable to even shut her eyes. Every time she did, images of that moment with Jimmy in the bedroom flickered before her gaze: his startled face, appraising expression, her own little-girl eyes in the mirror. Their whole conversation, full of a danger she couldn't quite name. She wasn't even sure if Jimmy knew the full extent of her intentions, but she was completely humiliated all the same. What if he told Julie what had happened, and Julie called Daddy and Celeste? What if Marissa found out? What if Jimmy never looked at her again the same warm way as he had at dinner?  
  
Curled in the fetal position, Summer wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stave off the numbing ache in her chest. She thought back to the dizzying attraction she'd felt in the bedroom, the desperation when Jimmy wouldn't even look at her. She was pretty sure she'd wanted him to kiss her then, wanted it so much it hurt. Now she wondered, had she not cornered him before: would he have given her the same gentle forehead kiss he'd given Marissa? Would he have called her as well and smiled again, like he had when he toasted her?  
  
The two potential kisses from Jimmy seemed to emerge from different worlds in her mind, worlds that didn't, _couldn't_ coexist. Summer felt unbearably mixed up, unsure of how to reconcile these two conflicting desires. She drifted between sleep and consciousness, lost in random images that strung themselves together as she dozed: Daddy having sex in the shower with Celeste, who morphed into Julie, Julie kissing Jimmy, who in turn grinned at Marissa and hugged her. In her dreams, Daddy and Jimmy always had the same face. Or no face at all, and eyes that refused to see her.  
  
It wasn't until she realized that the pillow beneath her cheek was wet that she even knew she'd been crying.  
  


*  


  
  
  
  


_  
  
Whew. I always think to myself, okay, the next one will just be a short chapter, but then it's as long as the last one!  
  
Poor Summer...so fucked up in the ways of sex. I hope that scene wasn't risque...just dangerous. Is it wrong that I had fun writing it?  
  
I hope you're starting to see things approach their current place: Summer's sexual promiscuity in front of Jimmy (the scene where she's in a bra in front of him, remember that?), Marissa's Issues (with a capital I) and depressed overachiever-ness as a result of her mother, Celeste being a drug addict, etc. I plan to follow up on these: never fear.  
  
Also, for those of you weeping and wailing at the loss of dear ole Greg Bliss from Summer's life...don't worry, he will be back next chapter. And I believe our darling Seth Cohen will make a cameo appearance. I'm already at work on Chapter Nine.  
  
In the meantime, please take a minute or two to let me know what you thought of this latest installment. In will make the calluses on my fingers hurt less. ;-)_


	9. Soaked

**Rating**: heavy PG-13 for language and heavy sexual innuendo.  
**Feedback**: _Greatly appreciated._ I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.  
**Author's Notes**: The title and poetry are from the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot. This may be my favorite passage, because it fits the chapter _so_ well. Here's the long promised Seth appearance — I hope you enjoy it!

  
**.**  
  
**Chapter 9: Soaked**  
  
_I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;   
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,   
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,   
And in short, I was afraid.   
And would it have been worth it, after all_  
  
**.**  
  


Saturday, September 7th, 2002:  
  
It was going to be one of those rare rainy days. Summer could see it already. The grass and houses were still brightly lit as if by sunlight, but the sky was already an angry, bruised blue, shot with threads of grey light. The neighborhood felt like a sound stage, quiet and still, as if waiting for direction. In a few hours the palm tree leaves would be flipped sideways in the wind, and the whole of Newport would be fully soaked in the downpour.  
  
Summer shivered and crossed her arms, wishing she'd thought to bring a jean jacket. It had been so gorgeous yesterday.  
  
Okay, Mom, I _heard_ you! Marissa charged out the front door and let it slam behind her. She hurried down the steps towards Summer, her ponytail swinging with the force of her angry stride.  
  
Everything okay, Coop? Summer asked, her gaze on the gathering clouds.  
  
I don't know, she's being a _total_ bitch. Marissa crossed her arms in an impatient stance, foot tapping. She shrugged violently, an affected gesture. Whatever. She hates me no matter what I do.  
  
Summer resisted the urge to inform Marissa that Julie didn't hate her, that it was Marissa who was being so difficult. That was the surest way to piss Marissa off. Instead she opened her purse to check for her cell phone. You want me to call Celeste? She could drive us.  
  
No, she said she was coming. Marissa glanced behind her. She just has to drop Kaitlin at her riding lesson on the way. And stupid Kaitlin's taking _forever_.  
  
Okay, we'll wait. Summer wasn't in any rush; she had the whole day. It was the first Saturday of the school year, and she was happy she'd decided on easy classes this year because she had absolutely no homework yet.  
  
It barely even felt like the school year had started. She'd slept over at Marissa's the night before, and now they were going to the mall for a whole day of shopping before the party tonight. It was going to be the first big party of sophomore year; Greg's parents were going out of town, and he'd invited practically the entire grade. Summer and Marissa both were expected to be there.  
  
And they were expected to look good. Summer glanced down at her casual tan capris and baby blue t-shirt: they were cute, but not party material. I need a new skirt, she announced, settling her sunglasses on her nose. The strange pre-storm brightness hurt her eyes.  
  
You've got a million skirts.  
  
I know, but I need something new. Summer tried to sound casual. You know, it's a new year. A new me. I want something...flirty.  
  
Marissa shot her an appraising look. She never missed a trick. This wouldn't have anything to do with Greg Bliss's _personal_ invitation to his party, would it?  
  
Ew, of course not! Summer planted her hands on her hips. That is _so_ over, Coop, and you know it! I'm completely over him.  
  
If you say so. Marissa looked like she was fighting a smile, which only made Summer angry. But, you've been _pret-_ty excited about this party since you talked to him yesterday.  
  
I'm excited about the _party_, not Greg. Summer lifted her hair off the back of her neck, heaving a dramatic sigh. Ugh, it's so humid today! She fanned at her face a little, not meeting Marissa's eyes. The truth was, she had been flattered when Greg had sought her out after homeroom yesterday. She'd spent all of last year being furious with him, but she just couldn't say no to those wide blue eyes. Especially when she knew that he'd dumped Marcy last June, and had spent the summer single and with his grandparents in Nantucket.  
  
She glanced to her left, away from Marissa, just in time to see an tall teenage guy skateboard into the driveway next-door and pause at the bottom to pick up the newspaper. He was angular and dark haired, with jeans that hung so low on his narrow hips that she could see the edge of his boxers. She pulled off her sunglasses with one hand, watching as he paused to flip through the paper, and nudged Marissa hard with her elbow.  
  
Marissa complained.   
  
You never told me you got a new neighbor! Summer said.  
  
What are you talking about? Marissa looked perplexed as she followed Summer's gaze, then choked back a laugh and grabbed Summer's arm. _O_migod, Summer, no! That's Seth Cohen!  
  
Summer cried. Her voice carried farther than she meant and the guy turned around. Sure enough, now that he was facing her she recognized him: that lopsided mouth of braces, the upturned nose, the strangely short haircut. she wailed quietly, whipping around and trying to pretend she hadn't been looking at him. Did he see me?  
  
Kind of, Marissa said through her smile. She waved. Hi, Seth! How are you?!   
  
Summer dared a peek over her shoulder. Seth opened his mouth to say something, spotted her, and settled for trying to wave, grin, and look cool all at once. Embarrassed and flustered, he tripped as he started back up the driveway and half stumbled out of sight, behind the tall bushes between the two houses.  
  
After a minute the front door slammed shut. The two girls waited, holding their breath in the silence after his exit. Then they burst into hysterical giggles. Every time! Marissa gasped, holding onto Summer for support. He can't ever say hi' without almost injuring himself!   
  
I didn't recognize him! Summer covered her face, laughing into her hands. You can't tell _any_body! Promise me, Coop!  
  
Marissa asked innocently. She affected a high pitched, breathy voice. Who is _that_? Marissa, you _have_ to introduce me to that guy or I'll just die! He's so handsome! She fluttered her lashes at Summer.  
  
Stop it! Summer begged, giggling. She swatted at Marissa's shoulder. I had no idea who it was!  
  
Okay, okay, Marissa was clearly struggling to keep a straight face. She slung an arm around Summer's shoulders. You know, in your defense he did grow, like, a foot over the summer.  
  
Summer agreed, anxious for any excuse she could find. Didn't he used to be really short?  
  
Yeah, he finally grew. Marissa nodded thoughtfully, and there was a brief silence. Then she snorted. I can't be_lieve_ you just checked out Seth Cohen!  
  
I did not! Summer pulled out from under Marissa's arm. I was _not_ checking him out! I just asked who it was! Ew! She made a disgusted face. I feel like a need to go take a shower or something!  
  
Hey, it's not that bad, Marissa said, her eyes sparkling. His acne's a lot better lately!  
  
I hate you, Summer told her calmly.  
  
Aw, you know you love me.  
  
That's true. Summer put her sunglasses back on and smiled up at Marissa. But I try not to. Marissa stuck her tongue out and they both laughed again. Summer felt herself relaxing.  
  
She just couldn't believe she hadn't recognized Seth Cohen. Admittedly, she hadn't had a class with him in a few years. He was in the smart classes, with people like Marissa and Luke. In fact, she didn't think she'd even had a conversation with him since elementary school. Which was probably a good thing, given the stories. Seth Cohen was the kind of kid who interrupted teachers to correct them, who actually told substitutes the truth about the lesson plan instead of letting the class get away with a study. Summer hated kids like that. Luckily there weren't very many of them in the dumb classes with her.  
  
Okay, girls, I think we're finally ready. Julie exited the house, dragging a whining Kaitlin along by one hand. They climbed into the car, Marissa and Summer in the back seat. They hadn't even driven a block when Marissa and Kaitlin were arguing about whether or not Kaitlin could listen to Britney Spears.  
  
After years of practice, Summer knew how to tune them out. It wasn't a car ride with the Coopers without the two of them squabbling. She settled her purse into her lap and focused on the outfit she wanted to buy. It was amazing how easily thoughts of a new outfit spun into imagining the party that evening, and from that to daydreams about Greg. Daydreams she wouldn't even admit to herself.

**.**

  
  
White cotton miniskirt, scarlet halter top. Hair pulled into a high ponytail, the loose strands around her face curling slightly in the humidity. Summer pulled a little at the hem of her shirt, loving the way the stretchy fabric clung to her every curve, then dropped her hands self-consciously to her skirt. All colored underwear had shown through and she hadn't been able to find her one white thong, so she was going commando.  
  
It felt scandalous. _She_ felt scandalous. And she loved it.  
  
On the way back from the mall she'd made up an extended story about needing to talk to Daddy before going out for the evening, so Marissa and Luke were going to pick her up in a half hour. It was a blatant lie: he was out of town. The truth was, she'd just wanted to get dressed in private, so Marissa couldn't tease her about Greg anymore. Summer hated being obvious, but she really wanted to look good tonight. She wanted Greg to notice her tonight.  
  
It was weird; she hadn't felt this giddy about Greg since the seventh grade. She'd spent a year listing off every reason why he sucked, trying to convince herself that he didn't deserve her. And she'd thought it had worked. But that smile from him yesterday had made her feel good about herself in a way she barely remembered. She hadn't even realized that feeling was missing until she had it back.  
  
7:10. Just enough time to go raid the liquor cabinet. She really _needed_ some vodka, as soon as possible. Especially if she wanted anything to happen with Greg tonight. Alcohol had been one of the terrific discoveries of freshman year. It was amazing how much easier parties were with alcohol. Even Marissa was able to cut loose when she drank, and her nosy, judgmental tendencies diminished with intoxication. Hurrying downstairs in her high-heeled sandals, Summer made a mental note to ply Marissa with a fair amount of liquor tonight.  
  
It was a good thing that Daddy never thought to lock the liquor cabinet, and kept it well stocked. Sixth months of sneaky testing had proved that he never noticed if Summer took anything. Sometimes, she wished he _would_ notice, would yell at her the way her friend's parents did when they got caught drinking. But tonight she was planning on making good use of her freedom.  
  
Unfortunately, someone else had gotten there first. Celeste was standing at the counter, pouring rum into a glass with shaking hands. She whipped around when Summer entered the kitchen, sloshing a bit of the liquid onto the floor. She looked worse than Summer could ever remember seeing her: mascara smudged, blond hair hanging limp around her face. Her old pink dressing gown was belted loosely and had a bleach stain on the front. She looked Summer up and down, for once not bothering to hide her obvious dislike.  
  
Do you know, Celeste asked slowly, her voice strained, where your father is?  
  
Summer shrugged. He's at a conference. That was the standard lie; it had been for years. She knew Daddy had a new woman. She knew the signs. The late nights, the frequent his constant distraction even when he was around. Summer knew he'd been cheating for a few months now, but she hadn't bothered to say anything.  
  
Celeste lifted her glass and downed most of the rum, then set it down on the counter so vehemently that Summer flinched. He's fucking some nineteen year old _whore_ whose boobs he did a month ago. She held Summer's gaze. And you know it too. Don't you?   
  
Summer stared back coldly, not giving an inch. She'd always hated Daddy's affairs, but when it came down to question of loyalty, she owed nothing to Celeste. Nothing.   
  
Celeste drew in a sharp breath. she picked up her glass, feel smug now, because you'll be in the same place soon enough.   
  
Summer crossed her arms. Oh yeah?   
  
Celeste swirled the contents of her glass a little, drained it and set it down in the sink. Yes, _sweet_heart. This is what happens to girls like us. She crossed over to the cabinets and removed a bottle of pills, her voice getting more shrill as she went. Sure, you're hot shit now, and guys fall over themselves for you, they tell you you're beautiful, and you can get _anything_ you want! But do you know what?!  
  
Summer snapped.  
  
Beauty. Doesn't. Last. Celeste swallowed the pills, then pointed to Summer with one manicured finger. Guys say they love you, but only until someone younger and better comes along. And then you have _nothing_.  
  
Not if a guy actually loves you, Summer retorted. She hadn't meant to answer, but she wanted to sting Celeste, to prove her wrong.  
  
Oh, honey, don't fool yourself. Celeste's tone dripped with condescension. Girls like you and me are nothing without our looks. We're decoration.  
  
Summer felt her steely resolve slipping. That's not true!  
  
Oh, I'm not trying to upset you! Now it was Celeste's turn to be smug. I'm just telling you the truth. And the sooner you realize it, the better off you'll be.  
  
A car horn honked outside.   
  
That's my ride, Summer said stiffly. She spun on her heel and left the kitchen, saved from having to argue, or worse, fight back tears in front of Celeste.

**.**  


Three hours and several shots of vodka later, the conversation with Celeste didn't sting so much. Summer wove her way through the party, letting the bass beat of the music pulse through her veins. This was why she loved parties. She could just get lost in the crowd, in the noise, and no one noticed her unless she wanted them to.   
  
She hadn't seen Greg in over an hour. He'd been down in the basement before, standing near her while they watched a beer-pong game, but he'd left before Marc had won. Summer scanned the room, taking in the stoners draped over the couch, the skanky freshman girls dancing by the speakers, the soccer guys throwing taco chips at each other by the stairs. The crowded, sweat-soaked scene reminded her vaguely of a party in her own house, years ago, but she shook off the memory. A cluster of her own friends by the windows caught her eye, and she pushed her way through.  
  
Hey, what are we talking about? she asked loudly, slipping in between Ashley and Marissa. Don't tell me you're leaving me out of the gossip!  
  
We're watching Derek, Ashley confided.  
  
Summer craned her neck to search for Derek. He was standing with Luke and Peter by the keg, laughing.  
  
Don't look! Rose commanded.  
  
We're trying to figure out if he's cheating on Aimee. Holly offered quickly, before she was shushed by several girls.  
  
Why do we think that? Summer asked, stealing a sip of beer from Marissa's red cup.  
  
Aimee made a face, twisting the ring on her index finger. He keeps getting me stuff for, like, no reason. I mean, seriously! She held up the ring. He gave me this this afternoon! And these earrings last week! She looked disgusted. I mean, could he be more obvious?  
  
About what? Summer asked, studying the ring.  
  
Ashley offered conspiratorially, I was telling everyone that when my dad was cheating on my mom, he used to buy her tons of expensive stuff. Because he felt guilty, you know? Derek's been doing the exact same thing!  
  
He's definitely cheating, Aimee said decisively, looking pissed. Should I dump his sorry ass now, or wait until I catch him in the act? The opinions from the group were mixed, and conversation descended into side comments.  
  
Summer had to raise her voice to be heard. Is he around less than usual? When my...mom was cheating she used to have all these imaginary meetings and stuff. She wasn't sure why she'd said instead of but she figured it didn't really matter. The point was the same.  
  
Holly asked. I never knew that.  
  
Summer tried to sound authoritative. Like, once she went to the dentist three times in one week. And she used to blow me off all the time because she said she was She used finger quotes. That's how I knew she was cheating.   
  
Holly nodded, for some reason believing Summer. This new idea was enough to prompt more flurried discussion, more questions for Aimee. While some of the girls offered more theories and advice, Marissa pulled Summer slightly aside. Why'd you say that about your mom? She left when you were three.  
  
No, she didn't. Summer turned her head away, pretending to be distracted by watching Derek with the rest of the girls. Marissa was right, but for some reason she didn't feel like admitting it. She left right after my tenth birthday.  
  
Marissa frowned absently. But I thought —  
  
Summer cut her off insistently She left during fifth grade, remember? She chaperoned the field trip to the Museum of Tolerance!  
  
She did? Marissa looked skeptical.  
  
Summer shot Marissa an annoyed look. You probably don't remember. You were kinda busy with Luke.  
  
Oh, right. Marissa looked embarrassed. She looked away, sipping her beer. Where _is_ Luke, anyway?  
  
Over there. Summer pointed, and watched absently as Marissa wandered off in the direction of her boyfriend. She had to allow herself a small grin of triumph at how easily she'd swayed Marissa's memory. All it took was a few confident details and she'd completely revised history. She'd always hated having to admit to anyone — even herself — that her mom had deserted her and her dad was a pathological womanizer. She hated being at the mercy of her parents' immaturity, hated having no say in the matter of her own life.   
  
Now she did. A few careful alterations of the facts and she could shift reality. And no one even noticed. It made her feel powerful, like she was in control of everyone around her, deciding what was true and what was fiction. Picking and choosing what she wanted her life to be.  
  
She did the same thing to herself sometimes. Last spring she'd been convinced that Greg had been an immature dick of a boyfriend: he treated her badly, ignored her to hang out with his friends, dumped her for Marcy. But now she couldn't quite remember why that mattered. All she could remember was the warmth of his grin, the dizzy feeling when he kissed her. The way he could be sweet and tender when they were alone together.  
  
Summer decided she had to find Greg, as soon as possible. Holly was trying to get her attention but she brushed her off, moving away from the window to wind her way through the crowd. He wasn't with the the guys eating on the couch, or by the keg. Summer shoved her way over to Luke's crowd and grabbed Peter's arm. Have you seen Greg? Peter shrugged and pointed her in the direction of the kitchen. She continued through the crowd, avoiding a pretzel fight by the sink, asking around for the missing host. Finally a girl standing in line for the hall bathroom directed her upstairs.  
  
Luckily, Summer knew Greg's house, back from when they were dating. The stairs had been blockaded at the top by a large wooden chest, but someone had moved it to the side and Summer was able to slip through. There was a light on at the end of the hallway, in the bathroom. Summer hurried towards it and leaned against one side of the door frame with both hands, poking her head in.  
  
she said softly. Greg spun around, looking surprised to see her. He was holding a towel in each hand, standing in front of an open linen closet.  
  
Summer, hey! He offered her a lazy grin, and gestured with the towels. Someone spilled beer in the basement and the carpet's soaked, so I was just grabbing, uh... he trailed off, shaking his head a little. What's up?  
  
Summer stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind her. I missed you downstairs, she said, looking at him through lowered lashes.  
  
Greg stared at her for a moment, taking her in. She leaned back against the door, not breaking eye contact. Grinning in disbelief, Greg tossed the towels onto the toilet-seat and crossed the four and half steps to stand in front of her. He'd grown in the past year, she was pleased to notice. She liked tall guys, but he'd always been on the short side. Slowly, very slowly, he lifted a hand and brushed a strand of hair off her face, his fingers lingering on her face. I missed _you_, he told her.  
  
Summer shivered a little and closed her eyes. She was right. Guys didn't replace their girlfriends with new girls if they really cared about the first ones. Greg had tried things with Marcy, but he'd come back to her. He still wanted her. Now it was up to her to convince him she was worth wanting.  
  
Summer opened her eyes, grabbed the front of Greg's shirt, and pulled his mouth to hers. He responded immediately, pinning her body to the door, dropping his hands from her hair to her hips, pushing closer to her. She gasped for air as he attacked her neck, fingers skimming under the hem of her shirt and lifting it to expose the skin of her stomach.  
  
Kissing Greg was different now. They were both more experienced than when they'd dated. Greg especially. He wasn't a clumsy boy anymore. But he didn't feel strange, either; being in his arms was wonderfully familiar. It was amazing and hot and exactly what she wanted right then.  
  
There was a click. Greg had locked the door and was pulling away, his gaze hungry. He shook out one of the towels he'd dropped before and spread it on the clean white tiles of the bathroom floor. Summer didn't resist as he pulled her away from the door, down onto the towel. They were locked in an embrace again before he'd even lowered her to the floor.  
  
The floor was hard and Summer wasn't used to having the weight of a boy's body on top of her, but she didn't care. At some point Greg had loosened her ponytail and was running his hands through her hair as they kissed. The rest of the party seemed to slip away. There was only her, and Greg, and this cold bathroom floor. She came out of her daze only once, stopping just long enough to remove his hands from the tie of her halter top. It wasn't like he wasn't already touching her breasts, but she didn't feel comfortable letting him see them yet.  
  
Then his hand was sliding up her leg, under her skirt, and she suddenly remembered that she wasn't wearing underwear. She pulled away, startled, but he covered her mouth with his reassuringly. He moved slowly, dragging his fingers across the top of her leg to the inside of her thigh. Her skirt was riding up; this time she didn't try to stop him. She was embarrassed, and wished they could turn out the lights, but she just closed her eyes and kissed Greg harder.  
  
Then he pulled away. At first she thought he was stopping, but he was just giving himself room to maneuver with his belt buckle. She closed her eyes as he fumbled with his boxers, not wanting to actually have to see anything.  
  
he whispered hoarsely. She opened her eyes. He touched the edge of her face and breathed, You're so beautiful.  
  
Summer froze, unable to resist the echo of Celeste in her mind. _Girls like you and me are nothing without our looks. _Suddenly, she felt like she'd been fooled, but she didn't know by whom. Maybe herself. Greg was leaning in to kiss her again but her hands were against his chest. No, don't.  
  
he asked, looking concerned.  
  
She pushed him back. I don't —  
  
Don't worry, he said quickly, leaning up on one elbow. I've got a condom.  
  
No, it's not that, I just — She pushed him back again, and this time he moved off of her, looking confused. It's not, I mean, it's just that... she struggled to explain as she pulled her skirt down, fighting back sudden tears. I'm _not_ beautiful! she managed to choke out. Don't call me that!  
  
Greg started to apologize but she ignored him. She pulled herself up and spun to grab the door handle. It took a couple of helpless tugs before she remembered that it was locked. Sometime during their lengthy make-out session the alcohol had caught up with her and she stumbled in her platform sandals as she ran into the hall. The head-rush from standing up so quickly wasn't helping either. She banged her knee hard on the trunk at the top of the stairs.

The noise of the party to her left seemed overwhelming, so at the bottom of the stairs she turned right instead and left the house, stumbling out into the heavy nighttime air. A vague ghost of the moon hovered behind the heavy layers of clouds, and in the distance a thread of lightning split the sky. Greg's house wasn't that far from hers, and she didn't feel like waiting for Marissa and Luke.  
  
It wasn't until Summer had turned the corner that the whole day caught up with her and she choked on a sob. As if the sky was echoing her sentiment, she felt the first spatter of raindrops in her face. For a few minutes the rain fell gently while she walked, sniffling back tears. A car drove past her and she turned into the glare of headlights, hoping for a ride, but the wheels only splashed water onto her legs.  
  
Her house was just ahead, and she hoped desperately that Celeste was asleep. The last thing she needed was the cold glare of I told you so. Celeste had been right, and that knowledge made her want to sit down on the wet pavement and give up. The street blurred before her eyes. The truth of Celeste's advice burned into her, making her feel dirty.  
  
Even though she knew she'd be soaked through before she reached home, Summer couldn't shake the feeling that she'd never be clean again.

**.**  


_I apologize that this chapter took so long in coming. Finals and show performances and leaving school just caught up with me. That said, this chapter was a labor of love, a struggle to write, so I would really adore some extra special feedback for it. :)  
  
In my original outline for this story, this was the chapter where Summer lost her virginity. Greg actually said You're beautiful! as he came, which was just that much worse. But then we found out she was a virgin and I had to change that.  
  
Here you'll also notice my explanation for Summer's commenting on her mom's adultery in The L.A. She's got a bit of the pathological liar in her, trying to control her life by reshaping the truth. Probably gets it from her father.  
  
Oh, and poor Seth, right? So awkward, but still more explanation of why he was so hated.  
  
Thanks for being so patient and reading, guys. Don't forget to review! :-D_


	10. Liquid

**Rating**: heavy PG-13 for language and sexual innuendo.  
**Feedback**: _Greatly appreciated._ I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.  
**Author's Notes**: The title and poetry are from the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot. The Pavillion is a real four-star restaurant in Newport. Marc Grossman is based on a real asshole that I know. ****

  
.  
  
Chapter 10: Liquid  
  
_Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,   
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?_  
  
**.**  


Friday, June 27, 2003:  
  
Excuse me. Summer caught the arm of the waiter as he breezed past. Have you had a message for Summer Roberts?  
  
The bland-faced waiter looked vaguely sympathetic and shook his head. I can go check, though, he offered.  
  
Summer gestured dismissively. Don't bother. The waiter glided off and she sighed, dragging a finger across the liquid condensation on the side of her water glass. The elegant chatter and clink of glasses of the Pavillion surrounded her, leaving her more lonely than usual. This wasn't the first time that she'd sat here at their usual corner table, waiting for Daddy alone. But in the past he'd always called to leave a message for her, letting her know why he was late. Today, nothing. And he was over an hour late.  
  
Summer grabbed another roll from the stylish breadbasket. Usually Daddy ate the soft, buttery rolls while she munched on the peppercorn breadsticks and parmesan crisps — she liked things that crunched — but she'd already finished them tonight. The waiter stopped by with a refill of her ice water and an offer to bring her an appetizer, but she refused. She'd wait.  
  
For what seemed like the thousandth time she checked her cell phone for a missed call, making sure that it was set to ring, that there were no new messages. She wanted to call somebody, but she wasn't sure who. No one was at home, and she'd already tried Daddy's office: his secretary said he'd left an hour and a half ago. Summer wasn't sure what to make of it. Things had been really different recently, but the signs were certainly familiar. Missed appointments, unexplained absences...  
  
Summer shook her head. No. That was before. It was different now. Daddy was different now. He wouldn't stand her up for another woman. He'd changed.  
  
Things at home had changed drastically as well. A Saturday in mid-March had opened with an awkward meeting in the living room, Summer perching stiffly on the rarely used couch, watching Daddy and Celeste as they sat gingerly across from her. The scene had felt familiar, reminiscent of news of an engagement from long ago, and she had tried to quell the foolish hope that they might be getting a divorce. Celeste would never admit defeat and accept a divorce, and Daddy would never be bothered to do the paperwork.  
  
Feeling like a small child and frustrated by the interminable side-skirting of the issue, Summer had finally demanded an explanation, only to be met with a surprise she'd never seen coming: Celeste was pregnant. Summer's astonishment had been followed by a wary excitement. On one level, sure, she knew that this pregnancy was probably a planned by Celeste, a last-ditch ploy to draw Daddy's wandering eye back to her. But it had been hard not to be moved by the happy shine of tears in Celeste's eyes, the way they glowed as she gazed at Daddy in a way they hadn't been since their wedding day. And Daddy had been grinning in a way that Summer had never seen before.   
  
The three of them had gone out to dinner to celebrate and spent the whole time tentatively sharing thoughts about what a baby might mean. Summer and Celeste had ended up gushing over baby names while Daddy ordered another round of desert for all three of them.  
  
Yet as happy as that evening had been, Summer hadn't told anyone about the pregnancy. There was no way it would last. She'd been burned too many times in the past, most recently with Celeste's marriage to Daddy. It wouldn't be long before they were both ignoring her again, before things went back to normal.  
  
But things didn't go back to normal. Or rather, a new normal had developed. Celeste became sober overnight. All alcohol had vanished from the house, along with the pills in the bathroom cabinet. Celeste had asked for Summer's input on decorating the new baby's room. The family ate dinner together almost every night; no more hints of affairs. And Daddy had followed up on his suggestion that he and Summer spend more time together by instituting a weekly dinner, just the two of them. Since then, they hadn't missed a week; every Friday Daddy would take Summer out to the Pavillion and sit there with his gaze on her, listening while she talked. Summer wasn't crazy about the food, especially the caviar, but she loved having Daddy's undivided attention. It never failed to shock and delight her when he remembered what she said from week to week.  
  
Except for tonight, when he hadn't even shown up.  
  
Summer was pissed. She'd been especially excited for dinner tonight, because she wanted to show Daddy her report card. The past three months had also had a surprising affect on Summer's academic life as well. With her newfound peace at home she'd been discovering a scholastic aptitude she hadn't known existed since the fifth grade. She'd forgotten how keeping up with her work made her classes so much easier. In fact, it was addictive. By the very end of the school year she'd become the star of her easy classes, passing her finals with flying colors and even managing to place into AP Biology. She'd been waiting all week to share the good news with Daddy, but her excitement was quickly waning.  
  
The shrill tones of electronic Mozart cut through her sulking, and she picked up her cell phone from beside her plate. It was Daddy. Ignoring the glares of the elderly couple behind her, Summer flipped open the phone and dropped her voice, 

**.**  


Summer had never seen Celeste cry before. Not real, damaged tears. She'd seen her cry crocodile tears when she wanted to play the pity card, a single fake teardrop that didn't blur her mascara. Now she wasn't wearing any mascara.  
  
Celeste lay, pale and washed-out on the white hospital bed, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She wasn't wearing any make-up, and her eyes were red and puffy from crying. The second Summer entered the room Celeste wiped her cheeks and looked away. She no longer resembled the blond ice queen Summer had always found so intimidating. Taking in her stepmother's defeated eyes, her pale fingers twisting the diamond ring on her hand, Summer found no feelings of satisfaction or pleasure, only pity.  
  
Daddy intercepted her at the door and pulled her outside. Summer, why don't you come with me while I get some coffee.  
  
What happened? Summer asked, sitting down on a bench in the hallway. Her legs felt as though they were made of liquid.  
  
Daddy looked distracted, slump-shouldered, hands in his pockets. During the first trimester it's often hard to tell. It could have been a number of things.  
  
Is Celeste okay? Summer would never admit it, but in these few charmed months she'd begun to feel fond of Celeste, seeing her in the new light of happy wife and expectant mother. Feeling her place in the family was more secure with a baby on the way, Celeste had been less defensive, less competitive towards Summer. More like a big sister or a fun aunt, if not a mother.  
  
The doctor wants her to stay overnight so they can do a D and C, but she'll be fine. Summer nodded, pretending she knew what Daddy meant. He must have finally noticed her slumped posture, because he sat beside her on the bench and put his hands on her shoulders. We're going to get through this together, the three of us. Okay, Princess? Summer nodded, trusting the warmth with which he said those words, and he kissed her forehead. I'm going to go make a phone call. Will you keep an eye on her? She nodded again.  
  
He walked off, pulling his cell phone from his pocket, and Summer stood up from the bench. She spent a few minutes hovering by the door, unsure of whether Celeste wanted to be alone or not. Her eyes were closed, but she looked like she was only pretending to be asleep. Summer shifted from one foot to the other — her platform sandals made her ankles ache — and tried to ignore the terrible emptiness in her stomach. Everything she'd been orienting her life around these past three months had been snatched away in less than three hours. She couldn't shake the guilty feeling that just a short time ago she'd been upset at Daddy being late for dinner, and now that hardly mattered. In fact, she'd give almost anything to be back in the restaurant, back before everything had been ruined.  
  
Excuse me, honey, a nurse said brusquely, pushing past Summer. She entered the room and handed Celeste several pills and a cup of water. Swallow these, they'll help with the pain, Summer heard her say. Celeste took the pills with a smile, downed them without the liquid to help.  
  
Do you think the doctor could write me a prescription? she asked softly, catching the nurse's wrist. You know, just to get me through the week. Summer was reminded uncomfortably of a junkie begging for a fix, but shook off the impression. Celeste was in pain. There were real uses for painkillers and miscarriage was probably one of them.  
  
The nurse freed herself. I'll see what I can do, Mrs. Roberts. She exited the room, ignoring Summer as she passed. Summer waited a minute before creeping into the room; Celeste gave her a cold once-over.  
  
What are _you_ doing here? she demanded, sitting up a little in bed.  
  
I — Summer swallowed, wondering why Celeste looked so angry. Daddy told me to stay with you. She approached the bed slowly. I'm here if you want to talk.  
  
I don't! Celeste snapped. She sneered, and suddenly Summer didn't feel as sorry for her. I'll bet you're happy now, aren't you?  
  
Summer felt as though she'd been slapped.  
  
You never wanted me to have this baby! Celeste's voice was hard. You can't stand to the idea of sharing him with anybody! Oh no, because then you wouldn't be Daddy's little princess anymore!  
  
Summer wasn't sure whether to feel hurt or furious. That's not true!  
  
Yes it is! Celeste was beginning to sound hysterical. You never wanted us to be a family! You always hated me because I wasn't your mother!   
  
At that, Summer lost it. No, I always hated you because you never wanted to be my mother!  
  
Shut up!  
  
No, I won't shut up! It felt good to scream at Celeste, good to air years of grievances. Summer hadn't yelled at her stepmother since she was eleven. I hate you, you fucking drug addict! You probably killed the baby yourself with your stupid addictions!  
  
Get out of my room! Celeste lunged for the nurse's buzzer and pressed it, staring at Summer with half-crazed eyes. Get out of my room before I call security!  
  
Summer slammed the door and marched down the hallway in a towering rage. She felt furious, enraged, empowered. But she realized upon reaching the end of the corridor that she had nowhere to go. She supposed she should find Daddy, tell him about the fight with Celeste before Celeste could. Maybe he could help them patch things up.  
  
She spotted him in the small lobby by the elevator, still talking on his cell phone. He had his back to her, his voice low, but in the quiet around him his words were clear. Relieved, mostly. I mean, it wasn't like I wanted another kid, right? Summer froze, gripped by a suspicion that she didn't want to hear this conversation. Daddy was talking reassuringly, his tone intimate. Of course not. You know that's not what I want. He turned so she could see the edge of his smile. I missed you too...How about tonight? No, not _just_ tonight. He chuckled knowingly. She doesn't have to know...Yeah, me too. I can't wait.   
  
He hung up and pocketed the phone slowly, giving Summer just enough time to scramble backwards a few paces and duck into the bathroom. Inside, she ignored the surprised look from the Mexican cleaning lady and braced herself against the counter, meeting her own gaze in the mirror. Was everything she'd been believing these past three months a lie? No, she decided. Daddy was the only liar here; she and Celeste had wanted the same thing. A family.   
  
And that was never going to happen. The pregnancy had been Celeste's last ditch effort to re-involve Daddy in their marriage. But that had all fallen apart, and there would not be another chance like it. The three of them were a family in name only, living isolated lives under the same roof. It really was pointless to hope for anything different. Hoping only got you hurt.  
  
Summer reached into her purse and rummaged around until she came up with a silver tube of lipstick. Not the subtle deep rose she'd put on earlier, in anticipation of a quiet dinner with Daddy, but a violent red she'd borrowed from Holly on a whim and never used. She applied the color quickly, flawlessly, smacked her lips and left the bathroom.

**.**  


Okay, babe, I'll be there in five minutes. Will you be ready? A car honked in the background and Holly barely pulled the phone away to holler,   
  
I'll be ready, Summer promised. Her cell phone was hot against her ear.  
  
I'm so excited! Holly squealed. You haven't partied with us in so long!  
  
When Holly had hung up, Summer was left alone in the silence of her house. She'd taken a cab home without telling anyone where she was going, just needing to be out and free before she lost it in the middle of the hospital. Once she'd arrived at home, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to call up her friends and find out about the party plans for the evening.  
  
In the past three months, Summer's social life had been a lot quieter. She'd still gone out sometimes with her friends, but mostly to smaller parties where she didn't stay long. And she hadn't drunk as much. It had hardly seemed appropriate. She was going to be a big sister. She had felt she had to set a good example.  
  
That shit didn't matter anymore. Summer had been surprised to realize how excited she was to see her friends again, to really relax and let herself give in to the music and the alcohol. The party that evening was supposed to be at Aimee's house, down by the yacht club. Summer'd never been to one of Aimee's parties, but they were reputed to be completely out of control. Rumor had it that during one party in March, Holly had blown a guy on the dance floor and no one around them had noticed. Or cared. Everyone had just kept dancing.  
  
Summer was ready to dance. She'd stripped out of her demure skirt and matching blouse, changing into a scandalously short black halter dress. Her face was covered in make-up; she felt safer behind the heavy mask of eye shadow and foundation. Tonight it wasn't so much about impressing people, or about being attractive. It was about convincing herself that if she strutted into that party in her four inch heels and crimson lipstick she would be able to forget the last few hours.  
  
Maybe she'd ask Holly for a lesson in giving blow jobs. Summer'd been putting off Marc Grossman's advances since March — not wanting to fuel the rumors that had persisted since her close encounter with Greg — but what was the point now?  
  
A car horn blared outside; Holly yelled something out the car window. Summer left her room and started down the hallway, only to pause at the door next to hers. The baby's room. A warm golden glow emanated from a single light standing in the corner. The walls were a soft shade of yellow, and Celeste had hired an artist to paint a mural on the side wall, a sweet woodland scene with furry animals and lush green plants. Summer thought briefly of her own ocean mural from childhood, ruined by a few easy strokes of primer and covered now in pale pink paint. She leaned against the wall for the briefest of moments, letting go of all the anticipation contained in this sweet room, all the hope. Murals were for babies, and there weren't going to be any babies in this house.   
  
The doorbell rang, several times in a row. Holly was leaning on the buzzer. Summer snapped out of her reverie and flicked off the lights, leaving the hall dark. Tonight, nothing counted besides having fun. Tonight, she didn't have to care about anybody but herself.  
  
Tonight, she could _really_ use some liquid refreshment.

**.**  
**.**  
**.**  
**.**  
**.  
.  
**

_Okay, folks, that's my explanation of the cold party-girl Summer we saw at the beginning of last summer. The same one who hit on Ryan and got trashed and left Marissa passed out on the front lawn. This is why she was like that.  
  
Now a word about the chapter progress: I'm going away for most of the summer, then straight back to college, where I'm part of the orientation program. So it may be awhile (September or October, even) before I update. I'm really sorry about that, and I'll try to make it as soon as possible, but I just may not be having any spare time/access to a computer.  
  
As for the good news, there's only two chapters left, and they're my favorites. They're the two I've been looking forward to writing ever since the beginning, and I have tons of notes accumulated on them. And guess which character plays a huge part? ;-)  
  
Next stop...Tijauna! I'll see you there._


	11. Dissolve

**Rating**: heavy PG-13 for language and sexual innuendo.

**Feedback**: _Greatly appreciated._ I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.

**Author's Notes**: The title and poetry are from the poem "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Elliot. I don't speak Spanish, so I'm hoping my brief usage of it is correct. This chapter was hard, because it's the only chapter in which I'm not designing the plot or events myself, so I hope it works and blends pretty well with the other chapters. I'm presuming, given the double-overnight of the trip, that the kids started out Friday morning, and the episode ended on Saturday night.

……

**Chapter 11: Dissolve**

"_Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,_

_The muttering retreats_

_Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels"_

……

Saturday, September 6, 2003:

Summer pretended to be asleep for awhile after she heard Marissa dissolve into tears across the motel room. She knew that, as the best friend, she was supposed to get up and offer her support. But she just didn't want to. So she lay on her side, facing away from the rest of the room, and tried to keep her breathing as shallow and even as possible.

It had been a bizarre day, to say the least. Summer wasn't even sure where to begin unraveling the thread that had led her to be falling asleep in a disgusting motel room on the highway to Tijuana — in a bed with Seth Cohen, of all people. It was pretty high on a list on scenarios that a few weeks ago she would have deemed utterly out of the question.

She took a steadying breath and checked the motel-provided alarm clock on the bedside table. Only 1:45. Damn. She was hoping for later, for any time that would justify her waking the others and getting far far away from this disgusting room. The clock itself was so old that the numbers weren't digital, they were those weird plastic flaps that flipped over with a soft click. It had to be like an antique or something.

With a sigh, Summer slowly eased herself into a sitting position, staring into the corners of the room as her eyes adjusted. She was on the far side of the bed; Seth was taking up the space next to her, and beyond him Marissa lay curled up on the pullout couch. Beside Marissa's bowed head Summer could just make out the shadowed figure that was Ryan, the newest complication in their lives.

Actually, Summer supposed she could blame this whole mess on Ryan. The summer had been an unremarkable string of parties and beaches until the blond, baby-faced boy had shown up mysteriously one night at a Newport event. At the time no one knew that he was being adopted by the offbeat Cohen family, only that within the space of a few weeks he'd been released from jail, beat up by Luke, involved in arson, and arrested again. The regularity of Summer's life was quickly dissolved. Marissa and Luke had broken up, then had sex for the first time. Parties were suddenly never complete without at least one fist fight.

At first, the excitement that had come with Ryan's arrival had been a much needed relief from the tedium of the high school social scene. In her better moments, Summer would admit that she'd found Ryan attractive at first, and had briefly entertained fantasies about backing him into a closed bedroom at a party, pulling off that button-down shirt that didn't fit him right, and showing him all the techniques she'd learned from Holly and practiced on guys like Marc Grossman.

But no, like every other straight guy in Newport, Ryan had a thing for Marissa. Perfect Marissa with her long legs and the untouchable aura of the girl in the mansion next door. That in itself was enough to lessen Summer's initial enthusiasm. Not to mention it seemed like things always got messy when Ryan was around: fights, fires, even firearms. He'd brought one of his criminal friends to a party and the jerk had actually gone and shot Luke in the arm! Plus, whenever Ryan went somewhere, Seth Cohen was always there too, talking too much and tripping over himself left and right. By late August, in Summer's opinion, Ryan had definitely worn out his welcome.

Why she'd agreed to get in a car with him and Seth and drive to Mexico yesterday was now far beyond her powers of comprehension. She supposed, in the frenzy of not having a ride to Tijuana and being desperate to be a part of the last big party of the summer, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Obviously, she hadn't been thinking clearly. It had been awfully hot in the Crab Shack that day.

It certainly wasn't hot right now. That afternoon, waiting to hitch a ride after their car broke down, the heat had warped the horizon into shimmering waves and Summer had felt ready to faint. But now that the sun had set, the temperature had dropped dramatically. Summer shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She wished she had something else to put on, a cozy sweater or something.

She'd packed for a weekend of hedonistic fun: bikinis, miniskirts, tube tops. In the hopes of ending the trip in the arms and bed of a handsome guy — preferably a senior water polo player like Erik Dill — she'd brought only a creamy satin negligee that she'd stolen from Celeste. It was a flirty, coed hotel room kind of garment, meant to be removed as quickly as possible and kicked aside in a moment of passion. It was too skimpy for this chilled room and way too nice to be worn in a moldy motel on the highway, curled up between polyester sheets beside Seth Cohen.

For the first time, Summer allowed herself to glance to her right and study Seth in the dim blue light. He'd apparently learned about deodorant since the fifth grade, that much she was thankful for. And as much as she'd balked at sharing the bigger bed with him, she had to admit that he was a much better bed-mate than Marissa. Marissa was a wanton sleeper, with extraordinarily bony elbows and sharp knees. Seth hadn't so much as moved in over an hour.

He was curled in the fetal position facing her, hands tucked up under his chin. He'd always struck her as the snoring type, but he slept quietly, breathing lightly through his mouth like a baby. Summer was momentarily struck by his little-boy vulnerability, the dark feather of his lashes against his cheek. It was easier to appraise him now that he was no longer a blur of kinetic energy, and yet somehow also harder to look at him.

Summer really wished she hadn't kissed him last week. It had been an idiotic idea, born of a moment that had no context beyond the starlit pool at his grandfather's birthday party. She had spent ages afterward chiding herself for letting foolishness take over, for allowing herself for one brief second to be vulnerable in front of a boy. She'd stopped doing that after everything with Greg. It was just easier to shut off her emotions around guys. That way she never got hurt.

That was why she'd been so cold to Seth since that brief kiss. Not that it meant anything to her, obviously. She was just worried that he'd expect something more from her. A few rumors had surfaced ever since her close encounter with Greg, and had floated around her more rapidly during the summer. She had that dumbass Marc Grossman and his big mouth to thank. How was she supposed to have known that a few hasty fumblings in a closet at Aimee's house would soon be common knowledge? They'd never gone all the way, but apparently that hadn't been the way that Marc told the story.

In all honesty, part of the reason she was still awake was that she was a bit terrified of what Seth might expect from her, of them sharing a bed together. Given the rumors she thought maybe he'd try something that, despite her daydreams and inclusion of the negligee in her suitcase, she just wasn't ready to do. There was a reason she still pulled away from boys any time their hands strayed under her skirt.

Summer supposed that she might be using this mutual sleeping situation to test Seth. His lack of kissing skills certainly suggested that he had no idea what he was doing, and was miles from trying anything beyond a PG rating, but you never knew. Was his naive act for real? Not that it really mattered — she so wasn't the least bit interested in him — but for once it would be nice to relax beside a guy who wasn't out to violate her.

A lengthy yawn overtook this line of thought, and Summer decided she might try for sleep again. Carefully, trying not to make any noise on the creaky mattress, she slid back down until her head hit the pillow. Beside her, Seth stirred, lifting his head slightly off the pillow. Summer froze, but his eyes remained closed. He frowned a little, like a fretful child, and slid closer to her on the bed. Summer kept her arms pulled tight to her chest until he stopped moving, his nose practically resting on her shoulder. She pushed aside her initial instinct to kick him in the shins and bitch him out for invading her side of the bed; his body heat was a definite comfort against the cool night air.

She tumbled into sleep listening to the easy rhythm of Seth's breathing, relaxing despite the situation, despite herself. She told herself later that the day's events had been so exhausting that she completely passed out, totally losing touch with the world, and that was why she woke up in the morning curled up against Seth's chest, her head tucked safely beneath his chin.

……

Summer really wished that she'd worked harder in her Spanish classes over the years. It wouldn't solve any of the big problems right now, but at least she'd be able to understand some of the blur of words surrounding her. She knew she wouldn't get all the medical terminology, but she might be able to ask someone for reassurance, to do something.

She just felt so helpless, perched on a wooden bench in the bustling Tijuana ER, knees pulled up to her chest. Last year Holly had gotten food poisoning and they'd gone to a different hospital, one that catered to rich California kids, and Summer had been able to help. This ER had been closer to where they found Marissa, so even though it was smaller and harder to navigate as Americans, they had rushed here. The hubbub of colloquial Spanish and suspicious glares from local patients scared Summer. She didn't belong here.

With his AP Spanish placement and natural gift of the gab Seth had fast become the designated translator, doing his best to keep up with the medical personal. And Ryan had refused to leave Marissa's side since they'd found her passed-out in that alley. There was nothing left for Summer to do but sit and blame herself. If only she hadn't let Marissa leave the motel on her own. If only she hadn't left Celeste's painkillers unattended in her purse. If only she hadn't let Marissa see Luke in the club, making out with Holly.

She could at least blame Seth for that one as well. Without him around she'd never have left Marissa's side, would have spotted Luke first and steered Marissa away from an inevitable confrontation. But instead she and Seth were dancing, fooling around on their own and she wasn't paying attention like she should have been.

Maybe it was Mexico, maybe it was the way they'd woken up face to face, maybe it was just the fact that she'd been sparring with him for so long that hostility had morphed into fondness; whatever it was, something had been different between her and Seth that day. They had still argued, but there was an underlying truce to their banter. When she'd first stirred in the morning light he'd been staring at her with a seriousness in his eyes that gave her a flutter in her chest, and made her forget his constant immaturity for a moment. Just for a moment. And then, after eating breakfast with him and riding shotgun in the car and picking up Celeste's medication with him in tow, she'd realized that she was surprisingly having fun.

At the club, while letting Seth spin twirl her to the music, she'd actually made up her mind to hook up with him that evening. Obviously, whatever happened in Mexico would stay in Mexico. She knew she'd have to get him to agree to that, because it wasn't like she'd ever let things go beyond a motel room south of the border. But for the night it could be fun, and nice, and she could maybe teach him a thing or two. Maybe if she gave in and gave him the physical attention he wanted from her, he'd stop hanging around her all the time.

That plan was shot to hell now. Marissa had taken a fun mix of vodka and vicodin and turned this evening on its head. She'd barely been breathing when the three of them had finally found her.

Summer tried to listen to Seth's conversation, as he was now talking with a serious-looking man in a white coat. Summer wasn't sure if she should be relieved or worried that they were finally hearing from a real doctor. He was speaking very swiftly, explaining something to Seth who was apparently having almost as much trouble following him as she was, because he kept begging the doctor, "Puedes hablar un poco mas despacio por favór!"

A nurse at the information desk held a phone against her shoulder and called to the doctor, "El helicóptero está aquí!"

Understanding that much, Summer stood, shouldering her bag, and tried to catch someone's eye. But everyone ignored her as the doors to the trauma room flew open and several attendants rushed past, pushing a gurney. Summer nearly tripped over the bench in her effort to get out of the way, catching her breath when she caught sight of Marissa's face. Her best friend looked close to death, frighteningly pale; her mouth was coated in the charcoal they'd used to make her vomit up the pills. Ryan jogged behind, eyes fixed on the gurney as he followed them into the elevator.

Summer sank back down onto the bench, fighting the persistent voice in her mind that whispered that this could be it. Marissa could really die. Summer could end up one of those sad girls in teen magazines, telling her story in a scare-tactic article entitled "I Let My Best Friend Die." And even if Marissa didn't die, it wasn't as if anything could ever be the same again.

She'd learned this morning, after breakfast, that Marissa's tears the night before had been because her parents were getting divorced. Summer had guessed that Jimmy and Julie had been having trouble ever since Jimmy had lost all that money, but their happy marriage had been such a fixture of her childhood. She couldn't begin to imagine a world in which Marissa's parents didn't flirt and kiss and watch TV cuddled on the couch.

The same with Luke and Marissa, who were definitely over after tonight. Summer recalled when she'd first befriended Marissa, right after she and Luke had started dating. And that had been in the fifth grade! In Summer's mind they were nearly as married as Marissa's parents.

Marissa had always had the life that Summer wanted. The effortless good grades and trust of all the faculty at Harbor. The statuesque beauty and innate charm that won over every guy she met. The perfect boyfriend, perfect wardrobe, perfect house and yard and neighborhood. The family that Summer had spent years pretending was hers as well.

It was as if there were nothing pure or sacred or good anymore, nothing untouched by the repercussions of this weekend. Everything Summer had vested faith in for most of her life had been swept away, ruined, broken. For years the Cooper family had been her lifeline, her tie to what life could be when you were lucky enough, but that hope and promise of happiness was lost. Lost and tainted somewhere in flawed investments, Tijuana alleys, and emergency room floors.

"Hey." Summer jumped as Seth appeared beside her. He was still holding a cell phone and looked exhausted, a shadow of his normally exuberant self. "I, uh, just called my mom." He looked down, his characteristic mumble taking over as he regarded his phone blankly, still stunned. "They said they'd call the Coopers, and that we should stay overnight in the motel. Drive back tomorrow, once we've slept."

"Marissa?" she asked softly.

He swallowed, his eyes darting up to meet hers. "They're flying her out, back to Newport." His voice cracked, whether from exhaustion or emotion she wasn't sure. There was a silence while they regarded one another, and Summer was ashamed of the plea she knew was in her eyes. Seth swallowed again. "She'll be okay."

This verbalization, this reassurance wasn't comforting in the slightest. Instead, it only acknowledged the overwhelming fears that Summer had been desperately trying to suppress, believing that if no one voiced them, they weren't true. The sorrow and sympathy in Seth's face only made those fears tangible; there was real reason to be afraid, and there might be a great need for sympathy very soon.

Summer was ashamed to feel her face crumpling like a small child's, her chin trembling, hot tears burning her eyes. In an effort to keep Seth from seeing that last shred of her dignity destroyed, she quickly brought her hands up to her face. They were shaking. All of her was shaking.

The bench creaked and suddenly Seth was holding her, his hands rubbing gentle circles on her back. He'd held her like this earlier, right when they'd first found Marissa and she'd turned away, unable to witness her friend's demise. Summer closed her eyes and tried to breathe, tried to repress the sobs that caught in her throat. His heart seemed to be going twice as fast as it should be and he smelled like sweat, but she supposed she did to. It had been a long night. And anyway, none of that mattered, not when his arms were on her back and his mouth was in her hair. Summer leaned her forehead into his chest, holding tight to a person she hoped could keep her from dissolving into a million pieces.

……

_And I'm back. My deepest apologies for making you guys wait two months more than I predicted for an update. It was a really really busy fall. Thank you so much for being so endlessly patient with my writing silence; I hope I still have readers._

_Anyway, that chapter was hard to write, being the only one to overlap with the TV show. It's sort of an extended scenes version from Summer's POV, but with existing parameters which made it harder to write. A combination of stress, unhappiness with the show during earlier episodes, and struggles with this chapter kept me frozen for awhile. I'm glad it's over, and I'm hoping the last chapter comes quickly. I've been planning it for awhile. Ideally, I'll finally finish this story before the end of the month, but I make no promises._

_Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think._


End file.
